


Ivory Shackles

by mysticalraine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alcoholic Dean, Angel Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bathing/Washing, Castiel Whump, Grace Kink, Homophobic John Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slave Castiel, Slave Training, Torture, Torturer Dean, Violence, Wing Kink, slave!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticalraine/pseuds/mysticalraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where angels are caught, trained and used by humans, Dean accepts the task of breaking into a beautiful blue-eyed creature, as a favour to a friend. Despite being a seasoned trainer, Dean finds himself hesitating at the idea of hurting the defiant angel. Being mesmerised by the allure of the dark and powerful being, Dean soon starts to question... Who exactly is wearing the shackles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unexpected Guest

Dean lowered the pan onto the stove and flicked the flame down to low. The pasta sauce simmered sluggishly, filling the room with the rich aroma of tomato and garlic. He turned his attention to the pasta straining over the sink. Unfortunately, Dean still hadn't mastered the simple task of boiling the noodles for the correct amount of time. While some of the pieces were stuck together, the others were slightly burnt. He huffed, trying to salvage the meal by picking out the ruined penne.

Dean hadn't used to cook. He preferred cheap and filling Chinese, or maybe quick and easy pizza. Why go to all the trouble to cook when food was a mere phone call away? Lisa, of course, was completely against this idea, and, until close to a year ago, they had cooked together nearly every night. Ben would help, peeling the carrots or mashing the potatoes. It was a family affair, which was something very foreign to Dean. Growing up, his family meals would consist of PB&J sandwiches with Sam as his father worked late. Again. Lisa taught him how to cook simple dishes that didn’t come from a can or box. As much as he complained about chopping or stirring in the kitchen every evening, Dean had to admit that it had been his favorite part of the day.

Now, Dean was alone in his large modern kitchen, leaning against the sink and contemplating whether or not to just bin the ruined pasta. He sighed and turned back to the stove, turning off the gas. The sauce still looked good, so he decided to refrigerate it once it was cooled and try the pasta again tomorrow. Dean walked over to the fridge and grabbed a cold beer from the door. He pushed the cap off with his ring, letting it drop into the counter with a clatter. Dean took a deep swig, emptying most of the bottle. He wiped his mouth down the back of his left hand. He moved his hand forward, looking at his ring finger.

He still had a small indentation where the ring that Lisa put on him used to rest. For several months after he left Lisa, he kept the ring on his finger, too distraught to take it off. Sam had been the one to tentatively ask him to remove it, telling him that there were more fish in the sea and that he needed to get back on the horse. Dean told him that if he brought up the issue again, he would break his nose. Sam had let the issue drop but gave him a piteous look that made Dean want to hit him anyway. A week later Dean took off the ring by habit as he went in to change the oil in the Impala and just didn’t put it back on. By the time he noticed it was not on his finger, it had been over a week and he couldn't remember where he had put it. He had a suspicious feeling that Sam had taken it to save him the heartache so Dean thought it was for the best.

Lisa hadn’t just been his wife; she had been his whole life. Well, the life that he had built around her and Ben. He had taken up a respectable job at a local garage, earning an honest living with a house in the suburbs and a mortgage. All he had from his old life was his beautiful ’67 Chevy Impala. Everything else was locked away in the shed in his father’s old house a few minutes away from his. John Winchester, despite being the deadbeat dad that he was growing up, had taught Dean everything he knew before he passed away. 

Their lives had not been easy. Sam had escaped, taking off to college as soon as it was possible, leaving Dean with their drunkard, occasionally violent father. When John died, his house was left to Dean. Dean had offered Sam half of the property value but his brother had outright refused it, saying he wanted nothing of their abusive parent.

Sam now lived in a nice apartment in Illinois with his long time girlfriend, Jessica. He was practicing Law and was planning to soon open up a small law firm specializing in taxation law. Dean could not think of anything drier but he strongly supported his brother. He was also grateful when Sam was able to help him out of a parking fine once in a while. Dean grinned, thinking of his brother as he finished the last of his beer.

A loud knock on the door broke Dean out of his musings. Another harsh knock followed by the doorbell rang through the house. Dean made for his door swiftly, slipping a small knife off the drying rack and behind his back as he moved. It was late and he wasn’t expecting any visitors, and not many people knew he lived here. He made it silently to the door, lifted the cover of the peephole and looked out. When Dean saw who was standing on the other side of the door to his small Kansas house, he was both shocked and relieved. He pulled open the door with a wide grin and pulled the sturdy man into his arms for a manly hug.

“Benny, you son of a bitch! Where the hell have you been? The last I heard of you, you were being tracked by a mob of angry traders. How did you make it out alive?” Dean asked loudly as he heavily patted his friend on the back. They pulled away still holding onto others shoulders like comrades. Benny returned Dean’s grin, blue-grey eyes crinkled.

“Dean, it’s been a while, yeah. I had a bit of trouble with those dogs but I knew a fella’. Helped me disappear ‘til they lost my trail," he answered gruffly. Dean chuckled, knowing exactly which of their friends had the ability to figuratively wipe someone off the face of the earth. He and Benny had been friends since they were young, both in the business, partners in crime of sorts. When Dean told him that he wanted out of the community for Lisa’s sake, Benny had been reluctant but forgiving, allowing Dean to fall away from the authorities without much backlash. Dean had considered contacting Benny when he split with Lisa, but he didn’t know how. When someone in their field as talented as his friend wanted to remain hidden then that’s exactly what would happen.

Dean regarded Benny a while longer before he remembered his manners. “Come in, brother. I’ll get you a cold one,” he said as he directed his friend into the kitchen. 

Benny looked sheepish as he took a bar stool. “Sorry, man, can’t stay long. I have someone, or rather something, waiting in the car.” Dean looked at Benny in confusion and prompted him to elaborate. “I got a live one, Dean. It’s a little wild; I didn’t have my stun gun on me, so I tied it up and put it in the boot," Benny said hurriedly.

Dean took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. “A live one? Around these parts? How did you manage that? I scoped out this area before settling down. There aren’t any here."

“There weren’t. Until recently, that is. I think this one was travelling. Had a passport, license and everything. I almost missed it when I saw it at the gas station. They are getting tricky this generation. Learned to drive a car and earn money," Benny said, shaken. “I had to tackle this one down on its way to the bathroom." Dean frowned. Yes, times had changed since he was in the loop. That scarcely affected him at all. He said as Much. “No, brother you don’t understand, I can’t do this one, I need you to take him off my hands. I don’t have the time or place to train one so evolved. You are better at this than I am.”

Dean was shaking his head. “No way, Benny. I told you I wasn’t doing that stuff anymore. You need to take that thing away from here before it makes a ruckus. This is a heavily populated human area. Did you even consider what would happen if the bugger got away?” Dean demanded. It was hardly his place to chide his friend when once they used to do the same, on a regular basis. That felt like a lifetime ago. Dean sometimes had a niggling desire to get back into the game, but he forced himself to stay away from the temptation. That work was poison. It brought out the worst in him time and time again. He didn’t need to go digging at his darkest desires and violent tendencies. He had escaped it once for Lisa. He didn’t think he had to strength to back away again.

“Brother, you have to do this for me. I can't stay in one place for more than a while. I’m going to get caught. I need this. I can sell it once you are done and get some money to go away for a time. I don’t think I can do this much longer,” Benny said urgently. He pulled out his car key and placed it on the bench top. “It's a rare one, Dean. I can get a small fortune from it. It can read, write, and speak just like one of us. It doesn’t look too bad either, as far as its type goes. I already have a buyer ready to snatch him up.”

Dean took in a large breath to race into an argument but he paused. Benny had his head bent against the granite, digging his car key into his thumb as he eyed Dean pleadingly. Benny wouldn’t have asked this of his friend if it wasn’t the absolute last thing he could do. They had helped each other out numerous times in the past, and Benny had saved Dean’s life on a couple of occasions. It wasn’t as if Dean had a lot to do now anyway. Living alone in a small house after years of family life had left a surprisingly large hole in Dean’s life. He had lots of extra time with his job, even if he was the first to arrive and last to leave. There were only so many channels you can watch before you have to fight the urge to smash the TV. Dean was never a reader, and the bar he used to frequent had been made into health food store. He made one more futile effort to reject what Benny was offering him. “What about the traders that are after you? Wouldn’t they come find you if a fresh one was registered under your name?” Dean asked quietly.

Benny looked up, hopeful. “I can deal with them. I think I can weasel this one into one of my older accounts. The authorities are only monitoring my licensed register accounts. I can get away with it if the final payment is made to your account and I can take the money from you.”

Dean nodded. It wasn’t a bad idea. He was still a little reluctant to take on this job after being out of practice for years but another part of him thrummed with excitement. He reasoned that this was only to help out a friend in need. He owed it to Benny. Dean placed his hands on the bench. “I’ll do it.”

Benny’s face light up with happiness and relief. “Thank you so much buddy. I’ll just bring it up-”

“No," Dean said abruptly. “Not here. I don’t have any of my equipment here. Let’s take it down to my father’s house. It’s close by, you can follow me there.” Dean pushed away from the counter and got his jacket from where it was draped on the couch and fished the Impala keys from the bowl beside the door. “This will be the last one, Benny. I After this one, I won't do this ever again,” he said as he shrugged on his leather jacket, sounding more like he was reassuring himself than his friend. Benny nodded and followed him out the door. 

* * * * *

Dean drove the Impala fast but made sure that Benny was following as he sped down the road to his father’s house. Well, technically it was now his house but he couldn’t bring himself to think of it that way. It will forever be the house that he cried himself to sleep countless nights after his mother passed away, and his father had a drink too many. Some nights he was forced to lock Sam in the bedroom as the drunkard went into an unexplained rage, punching and kicking Dean until he passed out. There were some happy memories as well, but none of them included their mother. He was only four when she had died giving birth to Sam. The happiest memory he had was when he saved enough of his part time work money to buy Sam some proper shoes and a few books for his birthday. Sam had hugged him and called him the best brother in the world. Another time, he and Sam had snuck away when their dad was asleep to the midnight showing of some movie his brother had been dying to see. Small moments with his brother were the only times he could remember being happy as a kid. Dean knew that he was bitter but he never got to be the kid that Sam was allowed to be. He never was allowed to sleep over at friends’ houses or go out with his girlfriend. He was first and for most Sam’s brother, then his dad’s obedient son. There wasn’t really much of Dean left when Lisa had found him. 

Dean pulled into the driveway of the old two-storey house. It looked large and ominous. There was a tall tree out the front with a tyre swing attached to it that Dean remembered was dead as long as he could remember. The tree looked much more dangerous now than it did when he lived here. He might need to get it removed before it fell onto the house. Dean was still terrified to change anything inside the house. There was just no life in the house. It seemed to suck the happiness out of anyone who stood in it. Dean only visited the house once every few months to check if there were any squatters or graffiti painted on the premises. But like himself, he thinks that the local folk also give this house a wide breadth. Dean reached into his glove box and pulled out the key to the house. He clicked open his car door and eased out of the seat, headlights flashed behind him as Benny pulled up. Dean shut the Impala door and walked up Benny’s functional black hatchback. Benny opened his door and got out of the car.

“It started up again a couple of blocks back. I can put it back to sleep before I bring it up if you want,” Benny said as he reached into the passenger seat and take out a heavy baton. 

Dean shook his head. “No need, Benny. I need it to be awake so I can examine it before I can set it up for the night.” He walked a ways back up his driveway before he turned and called to Benny, “I need to get some equipment out of the shed. I’ll leave the front door open so you can take it upstairs. I think I still have an old cage in my father’s bedroom.” Benny yelled back his consent as Dean open the front door in one quick motion, kicking it wide open. He then proceeded to walk down around the side of the house. A small path now covered with foliage led to the outsized metal shed he built with his dad when he was in the business. They both kept their weapon and tools away from the house when they were not on a job. Dean now walked to the front of the shed, and flashed the light of his phone against the intricate lock that adorned the door. He twisted the different knobs, several times before the lock gave way. He let out a small sigh of relief that he was still able to remember the code and yanked hard on the door, which moved with ear-piercing creaks. Dean pulled the rope hanging beside the door, and light flooded the shed. Dean eyed the boxes and walls, all loaded with expensive and unique equipment. 

He went to one of his boxes and pulled out a dusty duffel bag. It was worn and slightly burned but still worked just fine. Dean pulled off some rope off the far wall, you could never have too much of that. He picked up a metal collar. There were many to choose from of varying sizes and strengths, each magicked with a different suppression spell. He would need to see the creature before he decided on one that would best suit him. He put the metal collar down and opted for a sturdy leather one instead. This one was adjustable and still spelled with strong confinement magic. If worse came to worst Dean could just take a leaf from Benny’s book and knock it out. Den picked up an assortment of other things including a couple of blades, a ball-gag, a few metal hooks, a baton, a whip, and a small flask of holy oil (very expensive and rare stuff). He shuffled around a few more boxes unsure of what sort of training Benny wanted for it. He grabbed a few more contraptions just in case and zipped up the bag. It was considerably heavy but Dean was arming himself against whatever state the creature was in. 

He made his way to the back of the house and entered through a secret door behind the shrubs; he was never good with remembering where he put the spare key. He made his way up the stairs to his father's room, where he could hear Benny speaking to the creature. He pushed the door of the massive room open and saw Benny closing the door of the cage. It was a 6 by 6 feet cubic cage with heavy bars and locks. It had a small cot and a bowl in the corner. A hole behind the cot was for the creature to relieve itself. Dean was glad that he didn’t need to house train it. If it could read and write he was sure it could manage to pee into the toilet at the least. 

Benny turned to see Dean had walked in. He had sweat glistening on his head as he pulled one of the locks shut. “Did it give you any trouble?” Dean asked as he dropped the duffle onto the king-sized bed opposite the cage. He father used to house his work in his room during its training so he could keep an eye on it. Dean used to just leave his ones chained in the backyard. Benny huffed and wiped his head. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He whacked his calloused hand against the bars to make a point. A quiet whimper followed from inside. Dean peered into the cage. The creature was huddled against the far corner of the cage, wings draped around its body hiding its face. All he could make out was a head of dark messy hair. Benny moved back and sat on the bed. “It’s all yours, brother. This one is definitely going to be a hard one. Much too smart for my liking. It's unnatural.”

Dean tried to see through the wings to get a look at the face Benny was talking about. It seemed to sense his stare, so it tightening its wings around its form and moved further into the darkened corner behind the cot. Dean gave up (he would deal with it later) and turned back to his friend, who was looking with interest at what he had brought up in his duffel. “What training did you need for it?" Dean asked, moving to the duffel as well. He pulled out a small, silver angel blade and tucked it into his belt. Next he grabbed a pair of handcuffs with a strong magic suppression spell. 

“Just the usual,” Benny replied as he pulled out a long metal battery-operated device. “Although the man who is interested in buying means to make it a Personal Attendant at his office. I'm sure you can imagine how personal he would want his attendance to be.” Benny smirked. Dean understood; this was similar to many other jobs in the past. It confused him sometimes, however, why people would pay so much money for these creatures when a human could do the same job. Granted, humans could not heal instantaneously and were not as durable, but at least they were the same species.

“Okay. So when do you need it by?”

“I’ll come back in a month, maybe two. I think you will need it. It’s a tricky one, this one. Don’t let the pretty face fool you,” Benny warned as he stood up. “I won’t have any contact details for a time, but I will check in a couple of weeks.” With that he made his way to the door. Dean followed, leaving the huddled figure in the cage. They both walked down the stairs. At the door, the two men hugged, and Dean told Benny to be careful, pressing a few hundred dollar bills into his friend's hand. Being on the run was not easy and he learned that the hard way when he was young. Dean watched as his friend drove away before he made his way back up the stairs to the room. 

The creature was no longer squashed into the corner of the cage. It had ventured to the other side of the cage, holding the bars. It had its back to the door, examining its surroundings, as Dean silently walked in. Except for the dirty black wings that extended along its back, which somehow seemed to flick in and out of existence as Dean stared, it looked so human. The Angel wore a long tan trench coat and black trousers. The black shoes it wore were shiny and rich looking. Now Dean knew what Benny had meant by saying that it had been being really hard to spot. From a distance, without its wings, it could have passed for a young tax accountant. Dean made his way further into the room. The wings seems to flicker some more. He could hear the angel breathing hard as if from exertion. Another long second passed before the wings finally pulsed completely out of existence. Dean watched with wonder as the large black shapes vanished.

“Where did they go?” Dean asked suddenly. The creature jumped, turning around in a beat. It pushed itself against the bars as if to get as far away from Dean as it could. Dean could see its full profile now. Although Angels were genderless, this angel’s vessel was definitely that of a male, and an attractive one at that. Underneath the layer of trench coat and suit, Dean could see a toned lithe body. The neck was long and graceful, leading to a nicely formed face with light stubble. It made the creature look insanely hot, Dean thought, but nothing could compare to what Dean saw when he met the eyes of the Angel. They were the deepest, most brightly colored eyes that he had ever seen. They sparkled a brilliant cobalt blue that made Dean suck in a breath. So beautiful. 

“What?” the angel asked shakily. Its voice was hard yet boyish, almost innocent. It did things for Dean that he couldn’t explain. He shook his head and stepped closer to the cage with his eyes locked on the other’s, daring him to move. The angel stood absolutely still, panting, more out of fear than habit probably. It was a known fact that angels were not required to breathe. 

“Hello, Angel,” Dean said smoothly. The angel shifted uncomfortably as Dean, smiling, reached a hand up to cup his cheek, through the bars. “I’m your new master. And we have a lot to do.” The angel flinched as Dean pinched his cheek gently between his fingers. “Let’s get started, shall we?”


	2. The First Shackle

The angel was strong. That was the first thing that Dean figured out as he opened the cage and pulled it out by its soft chestnut hair. It resisted by grabbing onto the bars inside and tried to pull its tresses out of Dean's grip. Dean pulled again, hard. He could feel a few hairs being pulled out from their roots. The creature hissed in pain, loosening its hold on the bars and finally allowing Dean to lead it out into the bedroom. Once out Dean pinned it to the bars with one hand and his hip as he swung the cage door closed. He reached down to his belt and clasped the angel blade. The angel followed his hand, eyes opening wide as Dean brought the blade to its neck. 

“I am going to only warn you once, Angel,” Dean said in a deep and warning tone. “This can be done fast and easy if you cooperate.” He gently traced the blade along curve of the angel’s neck, pressing slightly on its Adam’s apple. “Or you could be difficult and we could go a whole other direction. Don’t get me wrong, nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear you scream, but if you obey, I will reward you.” 

The angel, who had been looking at Dean’s shoes, slowly bought its eyes level with his chest. It squinted a little at Dean’s words. When it spoke again its voice was high and hopeful, making Dean wonder just how old it was. “Will you let me go?” Dean frowned. What does he say to that? What angel doesn’t know its fate once it’s captured? He put the blade under the creature’s chin and pushed its face up, into the light. It still didn’t meet his eyes but it held still as Dean slowly drank in its features. Now that Dean looked closely at it, he could see that it was in fact quite a young vessel. The angel itself might be as old as dirt, but it had chosen a young and well-built body for its use. Its skin looked pale, flawless, although deep bags were set under its eyes, making it look weary. Its pink lips were chapped but soft-looking. Nose was perfect, straight and well structured. It had nice, defined cheekbones and jaw line. So utterly beautiful. 

Dean shook his head as he felt a strange buzz behind his ears. It wasn’t human; he shouldn’t feel this way about it. The angel should appear hot, fuckable. In the past, Dean only ever saw angels with a mixture of lust and disdain. But then again, he had never seen an angel so tantalizing. Dean lowered the hand that was pressed against its chest. It wouldn’t dare move now, with his angel blade digging menacingly under his chin. He moved to push the coat off it shoulders. It didn’t resist, as Dean pulled down the tan material. When it fell away from the angel's shoulders, Dean moved his hand towards its blazer jacket. This proved to be a little harder with his one hand. 

“Take the jacket off.” He demanded as he lowered the blade down enough to allow the angel to move. Hesitantly the angel pulled the jacket off, leaving just a white shirt and blue tie. Taut muscle and smooth skin was outlined through the fine material. Nipples were erect and visible faintly in the chill. A flat stomach led to jutting hips that could bruise. Dean was half tempted to pull at the tie, crushing their lips together as his other hand ripped off the clothes still adorning it. Dean wasn’t usually attracted to men, but this is no man, he reminded himself. He looked further down to the area below the creature’s belt. It was not in no way affected by this situation as Dean was. He could feel his semi rubbing uncomfortably against his boxers. 

The angel huffed, making Dean realize he had been staring shamelessly at a creature’s crotch. He looked up, curious that the angel exhibited such human gestures. The angel looked back, this time meeting his eyes fiercely, chin pushed out stubbornly. It foolishly had pride, something Dean would have to break out of it.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, resting the angel blade back under its chin. The angel didn’t respond immediately, as if weighing its options. Just as Dean was about to ask again, it spoke. 

“My brethren call me Castiel,” he said. Castiel. That’s a nice name, as far as angel names go, Dean thought.

“Castiel, huh?” The name rolled off his tongue. It felt good. “Tell me, Castiel, how did you become so human?” The question caught the angel a little off guard. It regarded him, slowly tilting its head. 

“I am an angel. I am not human.” The statement was said slowly, as if the creature thought Dean was dim. Dean nodded absently. That wasn’t important right now. He could have a long chat with the creature later about his mannerisms, but right now, it was late. Dean had contemplated heading back to his house, but he didn’t trust the creature enough to leave it alone, even if it was locked up. He didn’t know much about its strength or its mindset. It appeared calm enough, but Dean had witnessed Angels rampaging in the past. Dean pulled back the blade momentarily as he walked back to the bed, eyes never leaving the creature. It stood still watching him move, as prey would watch a predator. Dean slipped the angel blade into his belt as he rummaged through the bag and located a pair of handcuffs. They were more like shackles than handcuffs, actually. Made with heavy iron, etched with Enochian runes, it was known to weaken and suppress the powers of any angel that wore it. Dean picked up the metal constraints and walked back to the angel. It pushed itself back into the bars, trying to place some distance between them. Dean stopped in front of it and clicked open the cuffs, magicked specially to only open by his touch. 

“Give me your wrists.” The angel looked at the metal with disdain, no doubt feeling the suppression magic. It shook its head slowly and childishly moved its hands behind its back. Dean sighed, if only it were that easy to get the angel to comply. “Now Angel, or else things are going to get a lot more handsy than you would like, trust me.” The angel did not respond, leaning further into the bars. Dean caught the creature’s eyes dart towards the door he had accidentally left open. He frowned; it shouldn’t even be considering escape. He dropped one cuff and reeled back his hand. The back of his hand struck the angels cheek with a resounding slap, eliciting a sharp yelp. Its hand automatically went to its face, touching the reddened skin tentatively. Dean took this opportunity to snap one shackle neatly around the lifted wrist. The angel gasped in shock. 

“No, please. No,” it pleaded, pulling its hand against the chain that connected the two cuffs. Dean could already see that the magic was affecting it. The pulling lessened drastically as seconds passed, the suppression spell quickly doing its work. The angel looked almost subdued now, its face looking tired. Dean easily grabbed the other arm and clicked the metal around the other wrist. The angel shuddered, head leaning back against the bars, knees threatening to buckle. Dean took a strong hold of the chain and slipped one of the creature’s arms around his shoulders. This was always the reaction he got from the angels when he first enforced the suppression magic. He dad had explained that magical creatures, especially angels, had magic woven into their very being, by their grace. Taking it away, even temporarily, made them unbelievably weak. That is, until they adjusted to its absence. This Castiel took the spell much better than most angels Dean had worked with. Usually he was treated to hysterical yelling, dead faints, and in one case, vomiting. Castiel barely put up a fight. This worried Dean. It suggested that the creature had a very strong grace if it was not as easily affected by the handcuffs. 

Dean dragged the semi-conscious angel to its cot, kicking open the cage door. The shackles clanked loudly as he dropped the body onto the bed. He lifted its legs onto the bed and fastened leg restraints on the bedposts. Once done, he grabbed the chain and attached it above the creature’s head, into a hook for just that purpose. He secured all the locks with a press of his thumb against the cold metal. Dean also had a collar he could use to add to the suppression spell but he liked the look of the long elegant neck. The angel was now dead to the world, it had also stopped breathing. It seemed the angel made the conscious decision to breathe. Probably just to appear human. It definitely wasn’t dead. But just to be sure Dean pushed his finger into the angel’s neck to check for a pulse. There was a strong one. Dean sighed, relieved. 

The fingers resting on the angel's neck moved to its tie. He slipped one end out of the knot and pulled the blue cloth out. The angel didn’t stir an inch during the movement. Dean then popped the first couple of buttons. So he can be more comfortable, he reasoned. As more of the milky white skin came into view, Dean was torn. He wanted nothing more than to completely undress the sleepy figure and run his hand up and down the pale translucent body. But he inwardly shook his head and withdrew the hand that was softly caressing the sensitive flesh on the angel’s neck. He knew that while the angel was in his care, it was his to do with as he wished. And for all intents and purposes, he owned the heavenly being now sleeping soundly in the cot. But a small icky feeling inside him stopped him from acting on his urges. The expression "sleeping like an angel" seemed to be created with Castiel in mind. His face had smoothed of all lines and expression. He looked beautifully peaceful. And innocent. Dammit. 

Dean straightened, stroking the angel’s hair off its forehead. He slipped the tie into his pocket, thinking back to times his past assignments had offed themselves to escape training. He afforded no chances now. Wild angels were so hard to come by these days and Dean intended to help Benny the best he could. 

Dean shuffled out of the small cage and swinging the door shut on his way out. He got a padlock from the duffel and chained the door shut. Precautions always needed to be taken on the first day. He pulled at the lock and when he was satisfied he left the room. His father had kept some of his old clothes in his and his brothers’ room still. Dean had told him to throw or sell the stuff but John had kept every damned thing. Nothing changed in this house, ever. It always would be a haunted remnant of his ruined childhood. He got to his room and saw one wall was stacked full of boxes. Dean pulled the tape off the first one and opened it. It had comics and books that Sam used to read when he was younger. He used to do paper runs every weekend to make money to buy them for him. John never knew. Dean closed the flap and tried another one. After a few turns Dean found a box of old clothes. They were wrinkly and worn but comfortable. Dean pulled down his jeans, unbuttoned and yanked his shirt off. The shirt he pulled on was a faded grey Metallica shirt, one of his favorites growing up. It was a little snug.

Dean walked back to his father’s room in his boxers and t-shirt. The angel was still unconscious, so Dean cleared the bed of his equipment and pulled down the comforter. He was unaccustomed to such a huge bed. His own bed back home was a large queen mattress of memory foam. But if Dean thought his bed was good, nothing could prepare him for this mattress. So soft, Dean thought sleepily. He slid into the sheets and rested his tired head on the pillow. Tomorrow was Saturday. A good day to start training.


	3. Unaccustomed Home

The first thing Dean heard when he woke up was quiet breathing and the soft beating of feathers. In his incoherence Dean reached for his alarm clock, which usually rested on his bedside table. His wandering hand met nothing as he remembered exactly where the clock was. Back at home, next to his bed, in his room, in his house. Not here. He slowly lifted his head from the pillow and tried to push himself up but fell flat back on his face. He tried again with a huff and pulled himself back onto his knees facing the headboard. His head was still buzzing with drowsiness and his limbs were still asleep. Dean ran a hand through his short hair, and down his face, trying to place where the noise was coming from. Memory of the past night surged into his mind. He turned so fast his head spun and he grabbed the bed stand to hold himself upright. 

The angel was still sleeping, a more natural slumber than the one that Dean had induced the night before. One of his shackled arms flopped uncaringly to the floor as the another covered his eyes. The pose looked so human Dean was shocked for a minute. But that was not what surprised a gasp from his lips. The hushed rustling of features were coming from wings, Castiel’s wings. They were large and the darkest ebony with various blue hues that were every changing. They beat slowly and softly against the angel as he slept. It was like an endearing twitch. Each breath was met with the movement of his wings. His large and majestic wings now squashed under his sleeping form. Dean watched for a second longer, before he realized that he had a smile lingering on his mouth. He straightened his face, looking at the locks one last time before making his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. After using the toilet, Dean searched around the bathroom cabinets and found a lone toothbrush in a pack of six. The toothpaste was more of a worry as it came out in thick, congealed lumps. Dean opted to just use the brush by itself and gurgled with some spearmint mouthwash he found, that was still usable. 

He looked at himself in the slightly chipped bathroom mirror as he patted his face dry. He looked rested, light and younger. It had been years since he had slept that well. Dean was sure that neither the house nor the bed was the reason, but rather the angelic sleeping form in the other room. Dean had been told that angels had that effect on humans. He guessed that that was partly the reason his father kept them locked in his room. Despite being hunted, chained and enslaved, the creatures were still holy beings. They exuberated pheromones that had a calming and warm effect. In times of distress or intense emotion, they could release lust hormones, but these were usually unintentional. This was probably how they became so desirable to begin with. People who smelt an angel in these instances could almost complete themselves just from the smell. 

Dean took a glass from the row of three lined up on the shelf beside the mirror and filled it with cool water. He downed the glass in two large gulps and shook his head. It was going to be a long day and there was no way of completing it without coffee. Dean knew that the only things that was edible in the house was a rotten and shriveled carrot at the bottom of the vegetable rack in the fridge and maybe half a box of uncooked macaroni. Making up his mind about the inert need for coffee, he gathered some clothes, namely jeans and his father's leather jacket (which hung on the hook inside the bedroom. He pulled the jeans on and covered his t-shirt with the leather. The material was heavy, but it was a familiar weight around his shoulders. John, had only let him wear it a few times, and each time made Dean wish he could pull on his father’s acceptance as his did the jacket. It smelt of him: scotch, tobacco and cheap dry washing soap. 

Dean turned to the cage one last time. He checked the locks, the water and the pulse off the angel’s wrist through the bars. He seemed okay, healthy even. Dean would only be gone for an hour at the most. The angel would stay put even if it did wake up. The magic that surrounded the cage was one of the strongest money could buy. The shackles, the collar, and the cage could contain the angel, as powerful as it was. But Dean hesitated. This was not his case after all. He would have to answer to Benny should anything go wrong. So, as he walked out of the room he quickly fiddled with the small covered switch box beside the light switch. A low buzzing filled the room. The cage was now encased with a very strong electrical current. A touch of it could stun, but anything else could paralyze the creature. This angel was not going anywhere. Dean walked down the stairs and picked up his keys to the Impala as he opened the front door. He squinted at the morning sunshine and made his way to his car.


	4. Acclimatizing the Creature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of strong violence and some almost non-con action. I will also make sure to add warnings for any rape/non-con/dub-con scenes in later chapters. Enjoy!

Dean balanced two large paper shopping bags in his arms as he fumbled for the keys. Finally angling the key correctly, he pressed it in and twisted twice. The door gave way and Dean pushed it the rest of the way, allowing him to lug the food-laden bags into the kitchen, kicking the door closed on the way. His father’s house was dark and still smelt of disuse. Dean unloaded the bags onto the kitchen counter and pulled open the thick curtains over the sink. Mid-morning sunshine streamed into the room painting it a golden hue. Visiting home to grab a few clothes and shopping had taken longer than he had hoped. Dean hastily unpacked the groceries, sliding perishables into the fridge and stacking various cans of easy food into the pantry. Dean was an avid eater but this weekend wasn’t the time to spend on unnecessary luxuries. What happened in the first few hours was crucial to the whole process. He would take breaks when he must and eat what was simple. Like an athlete getting ready to train for a marathon, Dean knew he had to set his mind to the game.

Dean checked his phone as he walked up the stairs to the bedroom. Sam had messaged with a cursory ‘hey’, followed by a not so mild description of where he should stick his phone. Dean smiled as he reached the top step. He had been avoiding Sam’s calls lately but only because his brother had been acting insufferable. Sam was trying to convince him to visit for the upcoming holidays. Dean knew that this was Sam’s subtle way of getting him out of Kansas and possibly on a date with Jess’s paralegal friend he had met that one time. While he appreciated the effort, Dean didn’t need his baby brother or his gorgeous and intelligent girlfriend to set him up. Dean had no shortage of women to call when the need arose. Casual sex with no emotional baggage or strings attached was a formula that suited him just fine. 

Dean opened the door to the bedroom and smelt the strong aroma of white lilies, rain clouds and apple pie. They were his most favorite scents amalgamated into a single waft of perfection. Dean mused that a fortune could be saved in air fresheners if someone had an angel handy. The bedroom had a large window but heavy drapes covered it, shrouding the room in relative darkness. He eyed the cage as he flicked on the lights. The only lights were above the cage and shed light directly on top of the angel. It was sitting perfectly still at the center of the bed.

The creature had its shackled hands clasped together in front of its face, forehead pressed against them. Dean bent slightly to confirm that yes; its eyes were closed tightly as if it was praying. Praying was the only form of communication the angels could do with the suppression cuffs on. Apparently the holy telephone ran on a different wavelength and could not be deterred by human inventions, even magicked devices. Dean didn’t panic. Regardless of who the creature called, there was no way it was getting out of that cage. He smirked as he went to noiselessly switch off the current coursing through the metal of the cage. As he grabbed a long metal rod from his duffel bag, he also secured the angel blade into his belt. Dean stepped forward experimentally, testing to see if the angel would sense him with its grace. The creature was oblivious as Dean lifted the rod up and brought it down harshly against the metal bars, eliciting an ear-piercing clang. 

The angel shot up, almost falling off the bed. Dean grins menacingly as he watched the startled creature get its bearings. “Up and at ‘em, slugger,” Dean called. He bemusedly imagines that if its wings were visible, its feathers would be thoroughly ruffled. Wide blue eyes met and held his emerald ones. Dean was annoyed to note that there was not a hint of the previously seen fear. If anything, it had the nerve to look irritated. That would have to change. 

Dean unlocked the door in a huff, working as the creature followed his every move calculatingly. Once inside he fisted its black hair, bringing its face close to his. This brought the reaction he wanted; as the angel tried to jerk out of his grip, thin legs kicking out to push him off, Dean pressed a knee neatly across the creature’s knees effectively stopping its movements and looked down into its face. The angel stared back, lip shaking as it sucked in nervous breaths of air. Dean grinned, imagining himself chewing on that lip, maybe even drawing blood. He could worship those lips. Maybe fondle them as they drew tight around his dick. Run fingers over them as he fucked the angel into a mattress, stopping occasionally to suck its lush lips into his mouth. He shook his head to subdue the thoughts. All in good time, he chided; then he drew breath and spoke in a dangerously low voice.

“Listen here, angel. What we are going to do today could be nice and simple.” The angel blinked slowly, indicating that it was listening. “I tell you what to do. And you do it. No questions. No hesitation.” He pushed its head down harshly. “You are filth. You are below us. Unless you have explicit permission from me or another master, your eyes stay on the ground, where they belong,” Dean hissed. The angel shivered and Dean tightened his grip. His eyes flicked down to its lips again, two pink pieces of flesh dying to be kissed. Dean wet his own lips insentiently and unceremoniously tugged its body off the bed. The creature stumbled and its body pressed against Dean’s for a second. Dean felt its heat through its dress shirt. The angel righted itself, shackled hands pulled taut against the chains. 

Dean released his hold in its dark hair, sliding his hand down to cup its jaw. He stepped closer, crowding the warm body. It responded by moving back hastily, almost falling back onto the bed again. Its eyes darted frantically, probably knowing that it could do nothing against his advances. Dean dropped the metal rod onto the bed and lifted his other hand, reaching around to press firmly on the angel’s back. Their bodies pressed flush against each other. 

The angel - what was its name again? Dean thought distractedly, had one of its metal-covered arms stuck between their bodies. The hand was unintentionally pressed tightly against Dean’s rapidly hardening cock. Dean head was swimming. The smell of its intoxicating grace overpowered his resolve. He dropped his head, lowering his lips slowly onto its soft, pale pink ones. The angel jerked out of his grip again, almost head butting him in the teeth. Dean growled in frustration. Now he understood what Benny had meant. It was wild all right. And it was his job to tame it. Dean tried to rein in his lust. There was a job to be done. And no pretty boy angel could stop it. 

Dean pushed the angel one more time, which allowed him to unlatch its chain from the wall. He grabbed the rod from the bed and swung it against the creature’s knees. The angel screamed, dropping to the floor. Dean pulled it up by the scruff of its neck and swung again. This time the rod connected with the angel’s shoulder. The creature let out a loud yelp but Dean could tell it was trying to suppress further noises. What a prideful idiot, Dean thought, as he brought his arm down again. The angel took the beating relatively well. Again, Dean worried about the strength and position of an angel that could withstand pain so well. He would have to get creative if he wanted to break through this tough guy act. Dean continued to rain blows down on the creature. Blood now seeped lethargically down the angel’s mouth, shoulder and upper thigh. Dean stopped, throwing down the rod. The angel was shaking faintly and Dean was breathing harder. He grabbed the creature’s shirt collar and dragged it out of the cage. If he was going to train it properly, he would have to do so in a place that was well equipped. Dean pulled the half-conscious angel out of his room and down the stairs. Once he was at the bottom, he walked into the living room. Dean tugged open the liquor cabinet and drew out a key from under an angel figurine, his mother had loved. He glanced forlornly at a bottle of single malt whisky on the top shelf and promised himself a glass later. Dean dragged the angel along as he moved back into the hallway. Dean used the key to open a door barely visible under the stairs. To anyone else, it would look like a simple door, possibly leading to small storeroom. But the Winchester specialized training unit was a family secret. The door slid open to the left, presenting a long set of steps leading down into darkness. While John Winchester’s house was not large, he had spared no expense in making the most modern and functional training unit available, hidden under his house. Angel training was a lucrative business but bodily harm was a common occupational hazard. Proper facilities more than halved these odds. Dean sent a grateful acknowledgment to his dead father as he pulled the angel down the dark stairs. The creature protested quietly at the rough treatment but offered no retaliation. 

Once at the landing Dean ran his hand down the wooden doorframe, feeling for the light switch. Harsh white light flooded the room. The angel groaned in his arms, as he hauled its body to the back of the room. The back was equipped with specialized angel holding cages. Each served its own purpose, but all promised to inflict pain and suffering upon its occupants. Dean surveyed his choices but opted against them. He pushed the angel down. Its knees readily buckled, probably still sore from the beating. Dean noted that its other wounds were already healing. He dragged the angel over to a couple of suspended hooks. He lifted one of the creature’s hands up and secured the shackle with the hook. The wire was long enough to pull its arms straight above its head while it was on its knees, but allowed a 2 feet radius of movement if it was standing. 

When Dean reached for the second hand he was met with a sharp whack to the face. He fell back on his ass, cheek smarting. He would have been embarrassed at not having seen that coming, but his throbbing jaw made it impossible to feel anything but rage. He snatched the angel’s unbound arm and twisted it mercilessly away from its body. The creature screamed in pain, trying to pull away. This would only make the pain worse. Dean gave one last push and heard a satisfying pop. The angel’s head lolled onto its chest. Dean grimaced as he fastened the dislocated arm into the hook. It would heal soon enough and he would have to start all over again. Dean didn’t necessarily enjoy torturing the angel, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing a creature become unmade. Sex was one way of doing that, but Dean knew that there was other training regimens that needed to be done first. Pain was a useful tool, even if it was short-lived for an angel. Dean knew there was a specially made spray that slowed an angel's healing, and prolonged its pain. He couldn’t remember where his father used to buy it but he knew there was a small bottle hidden somewhere in the shed. He would have to search for it later. 

By the looks of things, Dean would have to bring all his guns to this fight. This angel was not only dangerous because of its power, which he had no doubt was significantly greater than that of an ordinary angel, but its salacious fragrance almost managed to cloud Dean’s mind completely. Dean had been affected by grace before, but never like this. It smelt like the angel was created with his carnal pleasures in mind. And its lips… Dean swallowed and bent to look at them. They were so perfect. He couldn’t for the life of him remember feeling so crazy about Lisa’s lips. They were soft, red and distinctly female. But that was different. While kissing her had been enjoyable, he had never felt this almost suffocating want. There were many sexy parts of Lisa but Dean didn’t consider her lips one of them. This angel’s body was plain sinful. Dean sighed heavily. As much as he wanted to just claim the angel now against the concrete wall, he knew that he needed to stick to the necessary procedures. He was nothing if not a professional. His lustful ideas and thoughts could be acted on later, if he got a chance. Training came first. His promise to Benny came first. 

Dean pulled at the links of the hook, making sure that it was securely fastened. He would need to get a few more pieces of equipment if he wanted to start the first phase of the process. He needed to break the angel, by any means necessary (that didn’t leave lasting damage). This didn’t exclude much. Angels were very, very durable. Dean remembered his father had once set a particularly vicious angel on fire. Not holy fire, mind, but a rather healthy flame that left the poor sucker a charred mess. The next day, the creature was almost good as new, save for a few patches of peeling skin. Dean shuddered at the memory as he took a moment to cut off his angel’s shirt. He patted his back pocket, where the tie still sat. He would be able to find a use for that later. Dean walked back up the stairs and headed to the shed. There was a lot to get done and he buzzing with excitement. He would bring the angel undone. This was his final job and he would do the best he could.


	5. Celestial Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was very delayed but school can be annoyingly distracting sometimes. =P As an apology, I made this chapter super long. Enjoy!

Dean walked down the stairs, carrying a large knapsack clinking with equipment. He cautiously made his way towards the worktables and set down the bag, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. The room was chilly, despite it being a warm afternoon outside. Dean pulled his jacket closer and walked over to the large fireplace. He swept aside the ash and arranged fresh firewood in a pile inside the grate. The training unit was comprised of several smaller rooms leading off from the main living area and stairwell. Dean’s father had spent quite a lot of his time holed up here so the place was furnished to a degree, but the threadbare couches and dull lamps that were placed around the fireplace were the only sources of comfort. Everything placed in the space was chosen plainly for its efficiency. Sam used to jokingly call it their dungeon. Dean agreed that Sam’s description was a good as any. 

The angel was chained up along the wall of the primary training area, a section that Dean had closed off. He needed to allow for the creature to heal before he could make any more attempts with it. It had already been about six hours since he had dropped to it off and went in search for some more tools. It should be almost, if not, completely healed by now. The other reason Dean had decided to close off the area was to keep its strong scent contained. Dean had gulped a cup of strong coffee earlier, which had somewhat cleared his hazy mind. Caffeine was an acceptable way of cutting through the sticky sweetness that clouded his senses but pain was a surefire way to keeping them sharp. Dean knew that he needed to be much more careful if he was confronted with the intoxicating smell.

Dean arranged the wood until there was a healthy flame licking through it and pulled down a lever to open the exhaust. The heat from the fire was like a warm caress on his chilled face. Dean stared at the yellow-orange tendrils for a few moments, contemplating his actions from earlier. An angel. Really? Come on. Since when had he been lusting over a winged bastard? Sure, Dean had had his pick of pretty and shapely angels in the past but they had all been women. Well, female vessels. Training was a tough gig and the creatures seemed more than happy to comply when he gave them soft touches instead of the usual pain. Dean didn’t consider himself above appreciating the male form but he hadn’t fully been with a man since he was a teenager and was experimenting with recreational drugs. While smoking weed had only got him a stern talking-to when his father found out, his dalliances with guys had given him a broken wrist. Dean usually paid no attention to the demands of his homophobic dick of a father but he had honestly never found a man he wanted to fuck. Despite people insisting that angels were genderless, Dean believed the angel had locked in the other room was most definitely a guy. And he wanted it.

Dean licked his lips and rubbed his rubbed his eyes resignedly. He would try and control his stupid feelings. There was never a good time to get attached to something that would soon be broken and handed off. Dean turned and grabbed the angel blade from the table. He stalked to the magically reinforced doors and pried them open. The smell was almost overwhelming, balancing on the edge of sickeningly sweet and mouthwatering. Dean’s eyes droop unwillingly, blood rushing south and his breath quickening. Light flooded into the room and he saw the figure pulling at its chains against the back wall. Dean slowly walked toward the creature as it tried to get as far away from him as it could, pained sounds spilling involuntarily from its mouth. Dean reluctantly stopped himself from approaching any further, turned away, and lifted the angel blade. He heard a frightened gasp from the creature, but tried to concentrate as he slowly pressed the sharp metal into the palm of his hand. The pain was striking, and Dean’s eyes cleared instantly. He shook off the blood seeping from the shallow wound and licked the cut efficiently before turning to his prey. 

Dean’s eyes trailed its body, looking for the source of its pained noises. The bruising and cuts had all faded away but the shoulder that he had hurt earlier was set at a weird angle. Dean felt a stab of pity, as he understood its problem. Straining against its bonds, the angel stared at Dean, challenging him. The two feet allowance didn’t allow for it to get very far. The angel’s eyes were so blue. They were glassy with pain but also dark and daring. Dean slipped the angel blade into his belt and stepped closer, cupping his hand gently under the angel’s chin. The creature jerked its head out of his hand and growled. This wasn’t going to work. 

Without thinking too hard, Dean slapped the angel sharply. It stumbled against the chain, clearly caught off guard. Dean used its momentary confusion to push the angel back down onto its knees and shove the shoulder back into place. The angel roared in pain, pulling away from him blindly. Its eyes were scrunched shut, small lines of wet running down the corners. Its teeth were red with blood, lips stained brightly. The pain it felt was very much the same as any human would feel. The suppression cuffs only allowed for healing, but offered no protection against pain. Having had first hand experience dislocating his shoulder, Dean understood. He waited quietly for it’s whimpering to subside before he spoke. 

“It wasn’t going to heal properly if it wasn’t set,” he reasoned, crouching down next to its face. “And struggling is just going to make things worse.” Dean caressed the angel’s healing shoulder. It looked at him with hate, and before Dean could avoid it, a large glob of blood and saliva landed on his jacket. Dean suspected that it was aimed at his face. He gave the creature a very unimpressed look and stood to peel off the jacket. He hung it over the table, grateful that it was just an old jacket. He would not have been so forgiving if it had been his father’s leather one. Dean rolled up his sleeves. It was definitely getting warmer with the heat from the fire spreading into this room. He considered that he might need to try a different tactic. The angel clearly looked smart enough to be reasoned with, but he doubted that it would obey. Despite that, he really wanted to try a more gentle method before he simply started to beat the pulp out of the creature.

Dean dragged a chair over to the suspended angel placing it a few feet away. He sat down with a sigh and made a show of clasping his hands casually in front of his lips, elbows resting on his knees. He watched the angel look back at him. They stared at each other for a few of seconds before the creature looked down, self-conscious. Dean smirked and leaned back in his seat. 

“What’s your name?” Dean asked. The angel scoffed, looking offended. Dean’s leer deepened “What was that? I know it started with C. Cassiel? Canstiel-”

“My name is Castiel,” the angel interrupted grumpily. Dean nodded, remembering. Its voice was deep and grating. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his earlier rough treatment or if its voice was perpetually like that. It was undeniably sexy. It sounded hoarse, like it had just woken up. He imagined what it would sound like straight after sex, voice raw from screaming his name. The angel’s skin would be flushed and glowing. Lips would be red and bruised. Its pupils enormous, just like his dick would be… God, he was acting like a teenager! Dean shifted his jeans discreetly as his earlier erection made another appearance. 

The angel’s (Castiel, he mentally corrected) body was very well shaped. He appreciated his long creamy torso. No hair adorned Castiel’s flawless chest and his pink nipples were a stark contrast against the white flesh. His smooth, flat stomach showed faintly visible abs. Dean had a thing for shapely hips and the creature did not disappoint. Sharp hipbones jutted out from his side, making the dip into his pants look all that more alluring. The body was all lean muscle and miles of soft skin. So fucking hot. 

Dean felt very conflicted. He knew that he could easily take the angel if he chose. But the defiance in his eyes and tenseness of his body said that he would definitely put up a very admirable fight. Angels’ bodies had many purposes, their holy vessels providing ingredients for a great many rare spells. Angel blood, grace oil and feathers were all very valuable commodities for spell casters. After that, the primary purpose of freshly caught angels, was in the slave market. Sexual slavery wasn’t as common as it used to be, the number of Angel rights advocates cropping up daily. Dean wasn’t a fan of forcing sex on angels unless it was a requirement of the job, or sometimes when it was part of the training and was unavoidable. Most trainers simply felt that they were exercising their law-given rights to their own property. With Dean, he didn’t even need to push the matter before the creatures submitted to his will. He had a feeling Castiel was going to be different. Luckily, there were a few things the angel had to do voluntarily before that part of the training could be attempted. Maybe once all that was done, the creature would become putty in his hand, like all the other angels before him. 

“Castiel. Can you show me your wings?” Dean asked hopefully. The angel looked back to him, disbelieving. Dean sighed. Well, of course. That would just be too easy. Dean shifted the chair closer, noticing how the angel tracked his movements nervously. “Look, I’m not out to hurt you. If you listen to me, this process could be much easier.” Castiel exhaled loudly, finding a spot on the ground very interesting. Dean reached to lift his head but remember the reaction that he had gotten earlier. He lowered his hand and spoke softly. “Castiel, look at me,” he said sternly. The angel turned his head further to the side, dark hair flopping. Dean repeated the order, emphasizing each word threateningly. There was still not reaction. Dean almost growled, feeling irritated that the creature continued to ignore him. “Angel!” He thundered, moving to strike the suspended being. 

The creature mumbled something suddenly, stopping him. “What?” Dean asked. 

“You said to keep my eyes on the ground,” Castiel replied louder. Dean lowered his arm trying to recall what he said. Remembering, he smiled.

“I also said that you should look up when your master tells you to.” The angel looked up at him carefully, as if assessing for danger. “I can tell you find it hard to listen to orders, Castiel. That is something we need to work on.” Castiel stared at him, his expression speaking volumes. “Not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that...I got laid,” Dean said, amused. Castiel turned his head away, disgusted.

“You think you are my master now?” The angel asked, incredulously. Dean was so happy to hear him talking that he didn’t take offence to the tone. Castiel shifted on his knees, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard floor. 

“Yes,” Dean replied simply. “And as you are my angel, I get to do what whatever I want with you. And right now I want you to show me your wings.” Castiel breathed deeply several times before resolutely shaking his head. Dean expected this but could not let it pass. Wings were a very sensitive part of an angel’s body, the only part that could be severely hurt and that took angels much longer to heal. Trainers frequently concentrated their disciplining on the wings of their angels to save time and effort. 

When his father had been alive, he would ensure that he did all necessary clipping. Clipping meant that a band made from melted angel blades was attached to the section of bone where the wing met the angel’s body. It was a tedious task but was essential to keeping his wings from flickering out of existence. Lesser angels’ wings could be brought forward with a carved sigil on their shoulder blades. Powerful angels, like Castiel, had to have their wings coaxed out and clipped. Every angel deposited into his care had been clipped, either by his father or a specialist, so this would be a first for him. He needed to do it to it soon, as it would make this exercise much easier for him. He could even extract a few feathers and vials of grace oil to sell. Dean was far from poor, but mechanic work only paid humbly. “Come on, angel. There is no need to make this harder for yourself.” 

“You are not worthy to see my wings,” Castiel says hotly. “I am an Angel of the Lord. I will not let someone like you touch the quintessence of my Grace.” Dean frowned as Castiel glared at him. Well, that’s just not on, he thought. Dean got up from his chair and crossed over to the equipment table. From the impressive spread, he picked up his most versatile weapon, the metal rod. It was the perfect length and could be used on an angel without shattering like wooden batons did. Dean turned and walked back towards the creature, tapping the metal in the palm of his hand, careful to avoid the cut. Castiel’s face fell the moment he saw the rod. He started breathing faster, no doubt remembering his last encounter with the object. Dean sat back down calmly, running his hand down the length of the metal, looking as if he were caressing it.

In a calm voice, he asked, “Would you like to reconsider your answer there, buddy?” 

Castiel sounded terrified but also seemed to be trying to hide it. He licked his lips once before answering, surprisingly strongly, “No.”

Dean almost expected his voice to have cracked on the word. He had to commend the angel’s resolve. Castiel’s fear was sheltered under a mask of defiance and determination. Dean found it stupidly endearing. A lesser angel would have been wetting its pants. This made Dean even more reluctant to just beat the angel again. “Fine. Castiel, I will make this easier for you.” The creature leaned back slightly, looking up at him. “How about you answer a few of my questions instead. If you answer them all, honestly, then I will only use a whip on you today. But if you don’t...” Dean let his voice trail off. He walked to the fireplace, still visible from where Castiel is chained, and dropped the top of the metal rod into the fire. “…I will brand you,” he finished. The angel looked panicked at the thought. Dean walked back slowly, watching Castiel stare at the fireplace in indecision. “Well?” Dean prompted him, as he got closer. Castiel caught his eyes and nodded slowly. 

“Okay. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability.” Dean smiled and moved to sit back down as Castiel added quickly, “As long as my talking does not result in someone getting hurt.” Dean considered it; impressed that the angel still felt that he could bargain when his ass was on the line. 

“Sure. No questions about your feathery buddies, I get it.” Dean could ask him any fucking thing he wanted but he decided that he would humor the angel, at least until he could get his wings out. Dean thought about asking how Castiel managed to evade capture for so but decided against it. Though he knew the answer would be useful in gauging how much power the angel possessed, Dean doubted the angel would answer such a question so soon. He instead asked the next question that pops into his mind: “How old are you, Castiel?”

Castiel opened and closed his mouth like he was mentally choosing what to answer. “I am 37 years old,” he answered finally. Dean’s eyebrows shot up. Why did the angel have to lie on the first question? Angels were old. Probably centuries old. Dean didn’t even want to know the answer, not really, but he had hoped if Castiel answered him correctly, he could reward him. He really needed the angel to like him, at least a little. Dean angrily made a move towards the fireplace and Castiel yelled after him, fear lacing his voice. 

“I answered your question, honestly, like you asked” he called desperately, trying to stop Dean from reaching for the metal rod. “I told you, I am 37 years old.” Dean turned in his tracks and stalked back to the angel, gripping his hair fiercely. 

“The fuck you are, Castiel,” Dean snapped. “Angels are as old as dirt. Don’t lie to me.”

“I am not. While my Grace is almost as old as time itself, my vessel is only 37.” Dean watched the angel’s pained face as he pulled his hair harshly in warning. “I am not lying. My true age is not linear like that of a human’s. I am a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. There is no real measure of how old I am.” Dean wasn't convinced, but he loosened his grip, allowing the angel to pull his head away slowly. “If I must, I can approximate my age at 3.9 billion human years old,” Castiel added softly. Dean tries to hide his shock but does so poorly. 

“Are all angels that old?” he asked before he could stop himself. Castiel’s head was bowed as he replied.

“No, I am one of the first angels to be created in my garrison. Many of the angels that exist today were born many centuries after me.” Dean couldn’t help but picture a tiny baby Castiel. He imagined him with chubby legs, white fluffy wings and wearing a diaper. He told Castiel that. 

Castiel answered with complete seriousness, not noting the humor in Dean’s voice. “I never wore diapers. Angels don’t grow like human children do. We are created exactly how we are needed.” The angel continued in a sad voice, “I was created along with the other angels in my garrison. We were taught and trained as comrades. We treated each other like brothers and sisters. My rank never mattered to them. We were a family, working peacefully under the commands of the Father. Together we fought in cosmic battles, protected planets from destruction, and searched for revelation.” Castiel’s voice sounded old, a deep sadness lining his words. “I remember watching in awe as the Lord created Earth and its beings. I watched a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach. And then many years later, its descendants captured and slaughtered my kin. Our love and reverence for humans was used against us. Now, we are used heinously, our vessel exploited and innocence squandered. This world was my father’s final masterpiece. And it once was so perfect and good.” 

Dean processed what Castiel said. He never thought that angels felt this way. It made him feel momentarily inadequate when he imagined the age of the ancient being. He had always suspected that angels were once mighty guardians, but after the Fall, years before Dean was born, they all became fugitives, wild and violent. Dean’s father had always said that angels were out for themselves. They sometimes favored one or two humans in their flock, but ultimately they were out for blood. That’s why humans captured and enslaved them. It was believed that by breaking them and forcing them to serve a human’s will, it gave the winged pests a reason to live civilly. Dean remembered something Castiel said and asked, “What was your rank in heaven, Castiel?”

The angel looked up, shocked. Guilt coloured his features, and he looked like he regretted having revealed so much. “I am sorry. I cannot say.” Dean almost groaned. They were doing so well. “Telling you my position in heaven can affect the safety of my kin. I told you, I could not do that,” Castiel said apologetically. Dean really didn’t want to punish the angel. But he knew he had to. This was the third time the angel had disobeyed him that day. He would be remiss if he let it pass again. Dean got up, walked over to the worktable, and shifted a few objects aside, searching for the weapon he wanted. He had promised the angel that he would only use a whip, so Dean picked up a long coiled piece of leather. He unfurled it carefully and walked back to the now quivering creature. 

“Ask me something else. I'll answer anything I can,” Castiel said anxiously, straining against his bonds. Dean shook his head sadly.

“I gave you a chance, angel. I own you now. You listen to me or there will be consequences.” Castiel looked pleadingly at Dean, but appeared to be steeling himself for the punishment. 

Dean lifted the whip up and almost missed Castiel’s wretched “please,” before he brought the leather down across the angel’s chest. Castiel yelled, pulling against the wires, trying hopelessly to escape the line of fire. The next swing hit the angel across the shoulder, curling around to his back, making him cry out again in pain. When Dean accidentally hit the angel across the eye, the creature pulled on the shackles so hard that it almost broke his wrists. Dean continued thrashing the angel until his struggles are sluggish with pain. He asked again, tone harsh to reach the angel through his haze of agony, “What is your rank in Heaven? Tell. Me. Now.” 

Castiel was now panting roughly. The damaged eye looked so swollen that the angel's head appeared slightly lopsided. He squinted through his one good eye at Dean, blood seeping out of the corner of his red-stained lips. “No. I cannot say.” Castiel looked pained at admitting this but his stare does not falter. Dean sighed. He was getting tired of the angel’s defiance. Fishing a small metal spray bottle out of his pocket, he walked over to the bleeding creature. Castiel tried to see what Dean held in his hand but he walked behind the angel. He lifted the cap off the spray can filled with expensive silver liquid and sprays it liberally on the angel's ruined back. 

Castiel convulsed violently, pain being triggered in all the nerve endings in his back. He gasped, choking out a distressed yelp as Dean also sprayed the liquid onto his front and face. The pain racked through his body in excruciating waves, causing his mind to blank out as he struggled to stay conscious. Castiel’s eyes were crammed shut, breaths erratic. Dean puts the cap back on the spray that was made specially to prolong an angel’s healing. It had the happy side effect of firing up every pain receptor it came in contact with on the creature’s body. Dean’s father used to use it regularly on his captives but this was his first time. 

Dean sat down woodenly on the chair, watching quietly, as he thought of how Castiel was becoming the cause of a lot of firsts for him. His first sighting of flickering wings. His first use of anti-healing spray. And maybe soon his first clipping. Dean watched the angel writhe against the bindings, each movement only causing him more pain. The hypersensitivity caused by the mist only lasted a few minutes, but the anti-healing power worked well over a few hours. For angels who were used to instantaneously healing, this was the worst sort of punishment. It was more psychological than physical, really. Their inability to tap into their God-given powers must be a real fucking bummer. 

Slowly, Castiel’s struggles started to subside. Soon, he was leaning heavily against the chain, head bowed low as he breathed in shallow puffs of air. He looked utterly devastated. Dean felt an unusual pain twinge in his chest. On compulsion he leaned forward and pressed his fingers against the hooks, undoing them a second later. The creature fell heavily to the ground; body crumbling down, like a rag doll. Dean watched him shiver in residual pain. Castiel shifted to lift the worst of his wounds off the concrete floor and his voice tiny as he asked, “Why do you do this to me?” Dean was rendered speechless. He stared at the hand holding the whip, considering how he could answer that question when he was asked so directly. He settled on honesty. 

“You didn’t obey me, Castiel. So I punished you. Simple,” Dean says, trying to sound confident, but the words felt thick as they fell from his lips. Castiel shook his head jaggedly.

“No, why do you hurt angels? We are only here sharing the world that our Father made for you,” Castiel uttered through shuddering lips. Dean took a deep breath and told Castiel what he had been taught since he was a child. 

“Angels are scum, Castiel. Your kind are creatures of lies. You spread false hope of a god that never existed.” Dean threw the whip on the floor beside the chair in irritation. “You act so pious and perfect, but as soon as our backs are turned, you kill us. You are better off living under our thumbs. Imagine the amount of damage you bastards could rack up if we left you to fend for yourselves. Be grateful we work so hard on you. Angels would be killed by the truckload if we didn’t choose to train you.” Dean felt the rant bring up years of propaganda laid on by his father, who was an avid trainer, even in the earlier days. 

“Is that how you truly feel?” Castiel asked quietly. When Dean did not answer he continued, voice strained “You need faith. God does exist. Again, I am not lying. No angel would about someone so glorious. He is loyal, just and forgiving.” Castiel looked at Dean through one blue eye. It watched Dean's fuming silence. “He knows of your sins, but he will forgive. He understands and so I do. You are in pain, Dean. You can repent and be saved.”

Dean saw red. What nerve this angel had! He? Repent? Before his sensible mind caught up, Dean reached down to grab the angel by the scruff of his neck and punch it square in the jaw. Castiel made a small noise but didn’t fight him. Dean reeled back for another punch, and another. And another. By the time Dean had worked out his anger, Castiel’s face was a patchwork of red and blue. Dean climbed off the Angel, knuckles throbbing. Castiel is breathing faintly, body now lying prone on the floor. Dean backed away but saw the angel’s lips moving. It sounded like broken sobs. 

“Oh god, please. Save us. Forgive our sins, oh father. Bring us home, to salvation,” Castiel was muttering repeatedly through swollen lips. Dean was increasingly uncomfortable, realizing that Castiel was not only praying for itself, but Dean too. Not knowing what to do, he retrieved and locked an electrifying collar onto the angel. The collar would send an incapacitating shock through the creature if it tried to touch any of the weapon benches or attempted to run away. Feeling exhausted, Dean tugged the secure door shut behind him and walked into the living area of the training unit. He wasn’t entirely sure if he beat the angel, or if the angel beat him. Dean felt hollow inside. He grabbed an old flask of whisky resting on the mantle and sits next to the fire. The creature gave him much to think about and a slight buzz might really help him. What was this angel doing to him?


	6. White Lilies, Rain and Apple Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, up to Chapter 6 and going strong. I might not be updating this story for a while (or I might be procrastinating like a crazy person and update in two days) as I catch up on some work. Thank you so much to those who are leaving Comments and Kudos. It really makes me feel all tingling inside when I see feedback. Enjoy! =)

Dean checked on Castiel late that night, head buzzing pleasantly from the liquor. After leaving the angel bruised and bleeding on the floor hours earlier, Dean had stayed in the living space for a while, deliberations burning in his mind. When the stillness started to be too much, he went upstairs in search of something to do with his hands. They were surprisingly steady, despite the jitteriness he felt. There was really nothing much he could do with the creature until it had healed to an extent. If he had to be honest, (which he chose not to be) Dean felt a little guilty at having hurt the angel so severely, so soon. The whipping had been unavoidable, but there really hadn’t been a need to lose control like that. The angel was just so irritatingly defiant! Dean tried to push its words out of his mind as he headed into the kitchen. He knew he had plenty of ready-to-eat food in the refrigerator, but he needed to fiddle with something. His hands were sore but still itching for use. Dean ran his fingers under the tap, watching the water run red, then pink. Most of the blood was not his, and this idea normally didn’t make him feel slightly queasy. 

Finding the correct ingredients, Dean started making a meal of chicken schnitzel and salad. The recipe had been Ben’s favorite and required more than one step. Dean soon started to lose himself in the smells of herbs, feel of breadcrumbs under his fingers, and the sound of crumbled meat sizzling. Once he prepared and cooked the food, he piled it onto a plate and sat at the kitchen island, beer in hand. The food tasted delicious but before long Dean’s thoughts started to drift. Repentance? Forgiveness? How so very saintly, Dean thought derisively. But the angel had been so convicted. Dean was never religious. Sam was used to praying since that one semester at that Christian school when he was nine. Unlike Dean, Sam subscribed to the idea that there was one glorious being. The almighty savior. The one true path to salvation. Bull. All of it. Dean wasn’t stupid. If there was a god, he definitely didn’t give a crap about people. Hell, he didn’t even care about his angels. Castiel’s broken sobs sounded in his ears and the next mouthful tasted like rubber. Dean tried to swallow a few more bites, but the earlier bout of unease was creeping up again. He gave up and shoved the plates into the sink with a clatter. He leaned on the counter, thinking for a moment before getting himself another whisky. 

By the time he stumbled back downstairs into the training unit, warmth was spread evenly through his body. His walk was as steady as ever, but the heavy feeling that Castiel’s words had inspired had lightened considerably. Dean filled a glass of water at the sink in the living space and made his way to the training area. Castiel was huddled against the back wall in the tiny space between two cages. His legs were drawn up, arms wrapping them in a tight embrace. The angel’s slim form was shaking slightly, eyes watching him wearily as he approached. Dean placed the glass within the creatures reach and stepped back slowly. He crouched down on the cold concrete floor a few feet away. 

“Drink?” Dean suggested calmly when the angel made no move to take the water. Castiel stared at him for a second longer before hesitantly unraveling itself. It inched forward on its knees until its hand closed around the glass. It moved back swiftly, hissing as its back connected with the wall again. Its injuries must still be a bit raw, Dean thought. Castiel’s face looked relatively better. It was actually hard to determine the damage under the thick layer of blood and grime. He would have to wash the angel soon, maybe when it behaved itself. Dean would let it soak in the warm water while he rubbed soap down its creamy back. He would spread suds in Castiel’s black hair, running fingers through it, lifting it into spikes. The angel’s skin would be flushed and pink with heat when Dean would pull its wet body flush against his and run his lips down its neck, nipping softly at the flesh. God, he really needed to stop doing this!

Dean rubbed his eyes to get rid of the scandalous image. The smell of the grace, though now muted under the coppery smell of blood, mixed with his already dulled senses was making him unbelievably horny. Dean pinched himself viciously in the arm and puffed in relief as the pain cleared the blurriness somewhat. Castiel had still not drunk from the glass. It was tipping the glass towards its nose and eying the water suspiciously. True, angels really didn’t need food or drink to survive, but Dean had heard that providing for their human vessels sometimes made it easier for them to heal. The limited power they had access to with the suppression cuffs on could be used to fix their bodies, but not sustain them. Dean also knew some angels loved to eat simply for the novelty of it. He guessed he would definitely hate to miss out on food simply because he didn’t need it. Imagine not having cheeseburgers. Or pie.

“It's just water, angel. Drink up,” he said, words more forceful this time. Castiel tentatively took a tiny sip. As soon as the liquid touched its mouth, its overwhelming thirst made it gulp the rest of the drink. It closed his eyes, seeming to savor the sweet taste and feeling its coolness as it goes down. Dean thought about getting it more but decided against it. The creature would only make itself sick at this point. Dean watched Castiel relax a little against the wall. Its eye was healed enough to open now but still looked faintly swollen. All but the deeper cuts and wider bruises were healed on the angel’s torso. Its jet hair was dull and matted to its head. Castiel’s pants were ripped and worse for wear. Dean’s stomach felt uneasy as he saw the amount of wounds that were still spread on the angel’s body. Sure, they would heal soon enough, but he didn’t like to see the blood mar the perfection of its body. 

Dean got up and moved towards his workbench. He hadn’t cleaned up earlier when he left in a hurry, and all of his equipment was thrown haphazardly on the surface. Dean purposefully left his back to the angel, testing to see if the angel would attack. His back prickled uncomfortably as he worked at cleaning and organizing his gear. He was worried of any danger the angel could inflict on him, but he was more affected by the dread of having to punish it again. This was one of the first things he needed to teach Castiel. Fighting was useless. Even in perfect health, overpowering Dean would be a futile effort. As a professional trainer, Dean had been drilled in hand-to-hand combat since he was a small child. John Winchester had been a relentless teacher. He pushed them hard and harbored no hesitation in punishing his sons when they failed. Winchesters did not fail. Dean still had the belt scars on his back to prove it. When no attack came from the angel, he counted it a win. 

Dean turned back around, angel blade in hand. Castiel’s eyes widened, face twitching uneasily, but he stayed still, clutching the glass tightly to his chest. Dean approached the angel cautiously. Fear made anyone act instinctively. He wouldn’t put it past the creature to strike. Castiel merely watched with trepidation as Dean pulled over a chair and sat down opposite him. Lifting two fingers, Dean beckoned the angel closer. Castiel stared at him, unwaveringly not moving an inch. Dean sighed softly. “Castiel. Please, come here,” he asked. The angel looked pained for a second as though it were contemplating refusing. But slowly Castiel crawled out of the small space it had crammed itself into. Dean felt a twinge of delight spark in his chest. He followed the creature’s careful movement, slipping the blade into his belt. Once the angel was close enough, it knelt, sitting on its legs with eyes trained on a spot beside Dean’s shoe. Dean smiled down at the creature and reached out to lift his head. Castiel flinched so violently that the glass that was still in its hand fell to the ground with a crack. 

They both sat rigidly in shock for a few seconds, gaping at the shattered glass. Dean straightened in his seat and huffed out a laugh. “A bit jittery there, angel?” He felt like an asshole the moment the words came out of his mouth. Of course the creature was jumpy. It had just gotten the tar beaten out of it not a few hours ago. Dean swallowed and tried again. “Castiel, can you answer the question I asked you earlier?” The angel discreetly shifted back until it was just out of Dean’s reach and shot a glance at him. Dean tilted his head, looking at the tic of the muscles in Castiel’s jaw. Maybe he should just wait until tomorrow. He had already hurt the angel twice in the one day. They both could use the break. Even if Castiel healed fast, the mental stress of the day must be bearing down on it. That’s the point of the training! Dean’s professional self chided. God, the booze was really working him over tonight. Dean was by no means a light drinker, but the intervention of his inner dialogue was never a good sign. It had been a long day. He could afford to give the angel a short reprieve-

“What do will you do to me if I refuse?” Castiel’s voice cut through Dean’s cluttered thoughts. Dean considered the question for a second, trying not to look shocked at the angel’s steady voice. Yep, Benny was right. Castiel was definitely a tricky one. Benny. Right, Dean had a job to do. Someone was actually relying on him. Dammit. Keep it together, Winchester! His inner voice chimed again. 

“More of the same, Castiel,” he replied in an equally steady tone. “But, if you refuse this time, I think I might revisit the hot iron idea.” Dean saw Castiel cringe involuntarily and gulp. “But maybe, I can offer you a trade.” The angel looked confused but nodded once to indicate that it was listening. “You give me an answer to the question and I’ll give you a small reward. That sounds fair, doesn’t it? Okay, well, what do you want, angel?” Dean hoped the creature didn’t ask for something stupid, like the directions to the nearest door. He could probably give him some food or a half-day of break from the training. Dean frequently offered these little rewards to his angels to keep them happy enough to want more. He could maybe even give the angel a night in the cot in its cage upstairs instead of chained up down here. 

“Can I see the sky?” Castiel asked hopefully. Dean was not expecting that. Castiel’s face falls when it saw him shaking his head. 

“The sky? Come on, Castiel. You know that I cannot let you outside.” As Dean said it an idea sprang into his mind. It might have b the alcohol talking but Dean thought it was a brilliant one. “Actually, maybe I can let you see the sky.” The angel looked like it was trying to control the relieved smile that was spreading across its bloodstained lips. “But I won’t be taking you outside. If you cause any trouble, you will be stuck in that cage,” he pointed to a cage lined with short sharp spikes, “for the next week. Do you understand me, angel?” Castiel nodded solemnly. Dean stood up and grabbed the angel’s forearm. Castiel winced slightly but allowed himself to be dragged into the living space. Dean had his angel blade pressed firmly against the creature’s lower spine. He marched Castiel to a small room off the side of the bathroom. They stop outside the door and Dean remembers the crucial reason for the trade. 

“Wait,” he said, pulling the angel to a stop. “Answer the question first, Castiel. Then I will give you your reward.”

Castiel took a deep breath, like it pained him to talk. Dean knew the angel really was eager at the prospect of seeing the beautiful blue horizon. And that it probably knew refusing would only bring it more pain. Castiel obviously wasn’t a coward but he was not senseless either. Dean would have carved into it if it had denied it his answer any longer. “I am an angel of heaven. I hold the position of Seraph.”

Dean blinked. The term sounded familiar, but he doubted he understood the full relevance of the simple word. He would have to call Sam later and ask him. Even as children, Sam was vastly interested in the hosts of heaven. If Castiel occupied as high a position as he suspected. there would need to be a few changes in the training. For starters, he needed to upgrade the magic-suppression cuffs. The stronger the angel, the more useless the devices became over time. Dean nodded his approval and pushed his luck a little further. “How many Seraphs are there in heaven?” 

Castiel stayed silent, but panted harder when Dean pushed the blade deeper against his back. “I am the only remaining one in my garrison.” The angel’s voice sounded desperate and despaired. “My brother Uriel was murdered by a band of vigilante trainers two months ago in the next town over.” 

“Is that why you came here?” Dean asked. Of course, he had heard about that incident, weeks before. Bobby, his father’s friend, had called him to check that he hadn’t been involved. “Four trainers dead that day, you know. Your bastard brother attacked a group of innocent high school girls with no provocation. Is that why you are here? To finish the job?”

Castiel was breathing hard now, arms wound protectively around its midsection. “No. That is not what happened. That is not why I came here.” It shook its head vehemently. “I cannot tell you why. This is not information I can divulge to a human.” Dean growled as Castiel continued. “Please, we had a deal. I answered the question. I kept my word.”

Dean huffed. The angel had a point. Dean, although, really didn’t need to keep up his end. He was the one in charge here. He could just as easily drag the angel into the other room and lay into him but instead moved the blade back a few inches. He needed the feathery creature to trust him. “Fine. But don’t think that you will get away without answering this. For now, I will give you your reward as promised.”

With that, Dean reached forward and pressed his palm against a metal square on the center of the door. It opened with a click. Dean pushed the angel into the room. It was a small space with a very tall ceiling. The boiler room was the only part of the training unit that opened up to the outside world. Machines and pipes ran along the short walls. The tall roof led off to a grill that was hidden at the back of the house. It was two stories up, made of thick metal blinds and covered with a large ventilation fan. Dean pulled down a lever beside the door and the metal blinds opened up to the dark starry night. 

Castiel gasped softly, looking elated, and walked forward until he was standing under the beam of soft moonlight. He tilted his head back until he was gazing up at the starry sky, mouth opened slightly. His form relaxed and his shoulders settled back for the first time since he came into Dean’s possession. Castiel breathed deeply and allowed his eyelids to flutter close. His arms were still wrapped around his naked torso but his hands were no longer in fists. Dean watched as the translucent white light fell on the angel’s face. He looked so angelic. His pale skin, littered with dark abrasions, was luminous under the glow. Dean saw the smooth rise and fall of the creature’s chest and without thinking, he moved forward. 

Castiel tensed minutely, hearing Dean's footsteps, but didn’t budge as Dean pushed his front into the creatures back. He felt the slight uncomfortable movements Castiel made but leaned forward despite it. Dean pressed his nose into the back of the angel’s neck and breathed in deeply. The smell of grace was tantalizing and familiar now. It muted somewhat. No doubt being burnt up, on healing, as fast as it was produced. He trailed his lips over Castiel’s hair feeling the warm rising from its scalp. Dean tentatively rested his palms on the creature’s bare hips. The angel gasped and shivered at his touch. 

Dean pressed his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder, contemplating what he could say to justify his actions. The angel was undeniably hot and Dean was mentally compromised, what with the booze and grace. Dean didn’t understand why he always felt so hot and cold with the creature. One second he felt like ripping its wings off and beating it with them with them. Other times he wanted to wrap the angel in his arms, kissing it all over. Dean asked the question that had been on his mind, “Why this, angel?”

Castiel shifted under Dean’s hands, trying to pull away enough to look at him. Dean tightening his grip and pulled it closer, rubbing his semi against Castiel’s thigh. “Wha- What?” the creature stuttered, probably feeling the form of it on his skin. He felt the angel stiffen in his arms.

“Why this? You could have asked for something else. To stop the training for a few hours. Or maybe food. What’s so important about seeing the sky?” Dean asked as he closed his eyes, sniffing in Castiel’s special scent. 

“It is the closest I can be to heaven,” Castiel said shakily. “Each star is the burning grace of a fallen angel.” It seemed to have given up hope at escaping Dean grip, so it stood very still, body taut with tension and fear. “When I look into the sky I can see my brothers and sisters. It is the last visible portion of heaven that can be seen from Earth. Its presence can give an angel hope that there is a greater being out there that knows of our suffering. It provides some comfort. To angels.”

Dean pondered this. It was quite morbid really. Wasn’t it almost like staring at a graveyard? It also irked him to think about how many angels must have fallen for there to be that many stars in the sky. It must be depressing really. Fallen was just a fancy angel term for killed and he knew that. Dean thought about the many angel killings recently. They were advertised as a precautionary method to controlling the wild creatures. There were not an indefinite number of trainers and it was a long process. Some groups of people preferred simply eradicating the species, to ‘purify the human race.’ This was in hope of stopping the sinful fornication of angels with humans. How easily could Castiel been one of the angels that had been slaughtered. He was so skinny and defenseless. Dean’s heart pounded faster at the thought of not having this warm body in front to him. His brain felt like it was filled with honey, warm and sweet, so the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I’m glad you haven’t fallen, angel.” 

Dean jerked back. What the fuck was that? He really needed to stop sniffing these addictive fumes. It was making him say weird stuff. “Why?” Castiel said, in what Dean could have sworn was a wry tone, “Would you mourn the ability to practically inhale my grace?”

Dean huffed a laugh. The angel was mocking him! Wow, could angels joke? Fuck, could they even laugh? He took a step back, surveying, as the creature tilted its head back again and lifted its face to the moonlight. Dean knew the angel was afraid but it made him secretly happy that it was still a bit rebellious. He knew that thinking this way defeated the purpose of the training but Dean was allowed to enjoy the creature’s sass for a little while, before he quashed it. He rested the angel blade on Castiel back again, not digging it in this time. “You had your reward, angel. Your time is up.”

Castiel’s face looked distraught. “Please. Just a few more minutes.” Its lip quivered and he worried it with his teeth. Dean stared into the angel’s azure eyes, looking almost ethereal in the silver light. He conceded way too quickly, his sensible mind would tell him later.

“Fine, Castiel. One. You have one more minute. But only if you answer a question.” Castiel looked dubious but asked what it was. “Why does your grace smell so good? I mean, I’ve smelt grace before and that was amazing. Especially during sex,” Dean added cheerfully, not noticing when Castiel grimaced. “But your grace smells incredible. Like, I don’t know. It smells like everything that makes me hard.” Dean would have felt embarrassed at having put it that way but in his hazy state of mind, it sounded perfectly logical. 

Castiel did look uncomfortable. “’What does it smell like?”

Dean took in a deep breath, nostrils flaring at the smell. “Like white lilies and rain.” He took another mighty sniff and added with a grin, “And apple pie.” 

The angel looked thoughtful and answered in a reluctant tone. “Grace is scented so that it can attract the rightful mate.” Its tone was flat and its eyes were trained on the wall, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “The stronger the attraction to the grace, the more likely the pair is to copulate.” 

Dean snorted a laugh and said, “So, even your grace wants us to hook up, huh?” Castiel looked disgusted and didn’t answer. “Well, there’s time for that later. You have your minute, Castiel.” The angel looked relieved and turned his face back to the glow streaming into the room. Dean watched him carefully relax, enjoying the view. They stood together in silence as the seconds ticked by. Dean was starting to feel his eyes droop tiredly. It had been a very, very long day. He was just about ready to crawl into bed, training be damned. Tomorrow was Sunday, so he had one more full day with the angel before he needed to head to work. He wasn’t at all worried about leaving the creature alone. The training unit was more secure than a nuclear bomb shelter. John Winchester never did anything half-assed. He would need to make at least a little progress tomorrow. He only had two weeks before Benny called him. He needed to do this for this friend. And soon.

Dean waited for just over a minute, then he grabbed Castiel’s arm and pulled it out the door, shutting the blinds as he went. The angel went silently, limping slightly as it was dragged through the living space. Once in the training room Dean pulled the creature up until it was standing under the chains bolted to the wall. He lifted Castiel’s hand easily, the angel offering no resistance this time. Dean decided that his leniency had paid off a little. Once the angel was firmly chained by the shackles, Dean unlatched the electrifying collar. The chains were not long enough to allow the angel much movement except sliding down to sit against the wall. Dean ran his hand through Castiel’s hair once, tugging lightly until the angel looked up at him. “You did good, angel. Behave like this and it can be like tonight every time.” Castiel blinked but didn’t answer. 

Dean turned and went to the workbench, placing the collar and angel blade carefully in their place. He gave Castiel one last look before locking the door and heading upstairs to bury himself under the covers.


	7. Unsought Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say my heartfelt and sincerest apologies for posting this chapter so late. Life kind of got in the way and I could not give the story the emotional concentration it deserved, during this time. Thank you to all those who left encouraging comments and Kudos. We are at 100+ Kudos now! Yay!  
> This chapter has non-con elements and a bit of gore. Please so not read if these disturb you. You have been warned. And on that note... Enjoy! =)

Dean groaned as he felt the sun stream into his room. His head pounded fiercely and he could hear a ringing in his ears. Each time his eyes moved, he felt slightly more nauseous. Yep. He sorely regretted the copious volume of alcohol he had drunk the night before. A fucking hangover? Come on, what was he? A fucking teenager? He was pretty sure that drinking was the one talent he appreciated his father teaching him. Alcohol retention was a Winchester trademark. Along with the pain, guilt riddled his chest. What had he done? He knew he shouldn’t drink so much. Dean turned his head and pulled the covers over his face. Despite the severe dehydration and scratchy feeling in his throat, Dean had no inclination to get out of bed. He desperately needed coffee though, and lots of it.

Dean tried to place what time it was but the cotton that filled his brain made this task impossible. It couldn’t be all that late as he typically averaged 3-4 hours of sleep each night. The sleep in the night the other night had been a fluke. Angel grace could do that to a person. Dean fumbled for his phone resting on the bedside table. The screen lit up and showed him not only the time, 7.30am, but that he had missed 6 texts, two calls from and one voice message from Sam. Fuck. Dean scrambled awake and was dialing his brother’s number before he was even properly sitting up. The phone rang four times before it was answered and Dean’s heart was thudding faster with each ring.

“Hey Dean,” Sam’s voice was jovial, and his breathing was heavier than usual. “You finally up?”

“HEY? Really, Samantha? You left like 10 freakin’ messages and 15 calls. I thought you were dying or something,” Dean tried to not let the panic that gripped his chest be heard over the phone. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Oh, yeah. Nothing,” Sam answered back guiltily. “Jess and I were just jogging. And I wanted to see if you were free next weekend for her birthday party?” Dean heard more panting and thudding, before he realized that his dork brother was jogging, at 7.30am, on a Sunday morning.  
“Look, sorry I woke you. We were just about to go and order the cake, so I wanted to know if you and Bobby will be coming.”

Dean leaned back against the headboard, head throbbing angrily. “It’s alright, little bro. Who the hell goes jogging on Sunday morning anyway? It’s not even 9 yet.” Sam was Dean’s polar opposite when it came to their health. Though Dean preferred a cheeseburger to a Cobb salad, he understood the need to work out. The years of training with their Dad had made it a very hard habit to shake. But 7.30am? Damn. 

Dean tried to recall if he had any plans for the coming weekend. It had been a while since he had seen had seen Sam and his girlfriend. He had to bail on several holidays as he was putting himself back together after Lisa and more after that when he throw himself into work to avoid his brother’s persistent worrying. A nice weekend in the sleek, gated neighborhood Sam lived in might just be the thing that he needed. He missed his punk-ass brother, too.

Dean threw his blankets off and grabbed a discarded t-shirt off the floor. “Sure, Sammy. When do you want me there?”

Sam puffed a few more times before saying, “Um, the party will be at our place, Saturday night. Maybe you can drive over on Friday night after work? Bring Bobby.”

Dean rubbed his eyes as he made his way into the bathroom. “Okay, I’ll give Bobby a call. But I think he can make it. He wouldn’t miss a chance to see you and Jess.” He grabbed the glass resting on the sink and filled it precariously with one hand. “What should I get Jess? Any new nursing stuff?”

Sam huffed a laugh. “No, Dean. Jess has all the nursing stuff she needs. How would you even know what a nurse uses? I bet the only other nurse you’ve known wore white fish net stockings and a vibrating stethoscope.” Dean could almost hear Jess slapping Sam.

Dean laughed but winced when the movement hurt his throbbing head. True, though. Glitter, his favorite exotic dancer at the local club, had an amazing routine that featured a tight white skirt and a battery operated stethoscope. Dean took 3 large gulps of water before gargling and spitting out the last mouthful. “Ew, Sammy. I don’t need to know what you and Jess do in your spare time.” Dean made his way slowly down the stairs, hands tightly gripping the railing as his eyes stung. Talking was getting harder as his voice was rasping his throat raw. “What should I get her then? I don’t want to come empty handed.”

“You won’t be. You’re bringing Bobby.” Dean heard whistling wind and Jess’s muffled voice before Sam continued, “And anyway, Jess has specifically asked if you can make your special homemade cheeseburgers. Which means you would probably want to do all of the cooking over here. She says that’s a present enough.”

Dean gave up asking Sam again. He would just give Charlie, the receptionist at the garage, a call later and ask her to pick something up for Jess. Charlie was an expert at shopping and frequently bought hideously adorable merchandise for her girlfriend. “Alright then. I gotta go. Got some work to get done at the garage,” he lied. It wasn’t unusual for him to work on an occasional weekend but Dean really didn’t want Sam to know that he had a hangover. Sam was quite against excessive drinking. He was scarred both figuratively and literally from one of their father’s drunken rages. Dean had no such compunction but didn’t want to start another discussion about responsible drinking from his brother. “Give Jess my love, OK?”

“Yeah sure. Say hi to Bobby for me. Bye.” Sam clicked the phone off after Dean uttered his own goodbye. Dean opened the fridge door and grabbed the carton of orange juice. He poured himself a tall glass and sat at the kitchen island and scrolled through Sam’s messages.

Sam: Hey man, u up? Sam: Jess wntd to knw if u r free for bday dinner nxt weekend.  
Sam: Can u bring Bonny?  
Sam: *Bonbon  
Sam: **Bobby  
Sam: Freakin autocorrect. U not up yet?

Dean smiled at his brother’s frivolous texting. Considering Sam’s huge hands and fingers, Dean was surprised he could string two words together on the tiny screen. He closed his phone and drank deeply from his glass, feeling the cool liquid make its way down his esophagus. He drained the juice and hummed as the sweet liquid soothed his sore throat. Food would be good but Dean couldn’t bring himself to stand up and make the effort. It’s ok, he could wait a while longer for his head to stop pounding. He poured himself another glass of juice and slowly sipped at it.

Dean sat at the island, head rested on his slightly clammy palm. His fuzzy mind slowly started to clear and last night’s events came into focus. Dean almost slipped off the bench when he recalled his appalling behavior towards the angel. What the fuck was wrong with him?! Dean’s face burned as he remembered how he slipped up. How had he given in so easily? The casual joking, the smiling, the neck sniffing! God! Dean would have been happier had he just pushed the creature against the wall and had his wicked way with him. He downed the last of the juice like a shot. Grimacing as he would if it were actually alcohol, Dean slipped off the bench and grabbed his phone. His shame at his actions the night before, outweighed all the pain he was feeling now.

Dean stalked up the stairs, feeling somewhat better walking back up them than when he was walking down them earlier. The juice had helped but a shower, he knew, would do wonders. Dean stripped off his clothes with vigor, angrily throwing his boxers in the laundry hamper as he sauntered into the bathroom. He slid open the shower door and stepped onto the cold tiles. Dean twisted the shower knobs until the temperature was just right. The warm liquid flowed smoothly over his clammy skin. The water felt calming on his head as it slowly wet his dark strands. Dean tilted his head back, letting the water trickle into his mouth and softly out over his lips. He rubbed his hands through his hair and down his face, feeling the warmth of the shower sooth his dehydrated skin.

Dean stood under the water until the stream washed away most of the hangover ache. He felt infinitely better and he knew that he needed to get out before was relaxed enough to crawl back into bed. No. Dean needed to stay angry and edgy. The angel was making him do things that he had never imagined doing. His professionalism was taking a huge hit here. Hell if he was going to let a winged creature change how he excelled in his job. Dean closed his eyes against the water and breathed out harshly. Castiel’s azure eyes flashed under his lids, startling him. Dean gasped almost choking on the stream. Dean tried to erase the blue eyes from his mind and the pull himself together.

It was the angel’s stupid grace. It was playing with his brain again. Dean could not remember a time when he was hornier. Or, more correctly, so constantly aroused. Dean grabbed the shampoo and squirted a large dollop into his palm. It wasn’t anything special. Dean usually just bought whichever brand was on sale. This particular brand smelt floral, almost like lilies. As Dean scrubbed the shampoo into his damp strands, he felt his dick twitch in recognition. He stared grumpily at the hardening flesh between his legs. It was all because of his stupid addiction to the angel’s scent. It frustrated him how much he was being affected by it. Dean ran his hand over the smooth muscle and pushed it down, willing its interest to go away. It was a real concern that Dean was hard simply from the memory of the angel’s grace. He pressed his blunt nails into the sides. When the erection did not wilt, Dean wrapped his hand firmly around the bottom of his length and squeezed.

Instead of reducing the blood flushing into his dick, Dean felt even more aroused by the pressure. It would be good to clean out the pipes, he thought as he moved his tight grip up the hard flesh. Yeah. This would definitely diffuse the angel’s effect on him, his hastily clouding brain told him. Dean set a nice rhythm, tightening his grip at the tip with a twist. He paid careful attention to the vein that ran along the length of his staff, pressing gently and then alternating into a more forceful rub. Dean felt his mind wander back to the soft ivory skin under his fingers.

He imagined flicking at the creatures small pink nubs until they were red and erect. He would then lick a path from the creature’s navel, all the way to its soft dark curls. Dean pictured himself slipping one, then two, fingers into Castiel’s pink pucker. He would slowly scissor the angel open before pressing down on the special spot that would make him buck in pleasure. Dean wouldn’t pay any attention to the Castiel’s male appendage until it was so hard that he would be begging for release. Even then, Dean thought, I would simply flip him over and push in all the way to the hilt. Dean fucked his hand firmly, imagining that it was the angel’s tight hole. His knees started to wobble as the tension in his groin swelled. Dean tipped his head back until it was resting on the shower wall, letting it take his weight partially, as his breath came out erratically.

Dean came with a short yell, painting the glass door with streams of white. He felt exhausted, the afterglow of the orgasm fading quickly as the blood slowly returned to his head. Dean’s throat felt dry and his headache was back. He stood under the water, now running slightly cold. He had probably used up all the hot water. Dean let the lukewarm water cascade over his body and the glass, washing away all evidence of his pleasure. Dean ran a soap bar efficiently over the rest of his body, scrubbing angrily at his pink skin. His fingers were raw and pruney by the time he turned off the water. Grumbling Dean wrapped a large towel around his dripping form and tried very hard not to think about how he had just masturbated to the image of the creature chained in the basement downstairs. Fuck.

* * * * *

By the time Dean made his way downstairs, he was feeling murderous. He had tried to eat a few bites of sandwich after showering but had almost thrown up. The drinking, he knew now, had been a really bad idea. Dean hadn’t drunk that much in a very long time. Other than the occasional beer with Bobby or a glass or two of whiskey every odd night, he couldn’t remember the last time he had had that much liquor in his system. There was a good reason for that too. After Lisa, he had gone completely off the rails. Dean, following in the well-trodden path of his dad, had taken to the bottle. Hard. He drank more whiskey than he did water. Some nights his meals consisted of several bottles of beer and leftover pizza crusts. Dean’s tolerance for alcohol reached amazing highs but he almost lost his job at Bobby’s, crashed his beautiful Chevy and poured half his life savings into the local strip joint. When Sam and Bobby found him passed out outside a bar after going radio silent for four days, they had reached their wits’ end. They hauled him off to Bobby’s house where he was locked in the older man’s iron-reinforced bomb shelter.

Unlike the fancy, 4-star hotel-style rehab centers, Bobby’s method of ‘coming clean’ was brutal. Dean was given small, bland meals and water until he was able stand up without puking his guts out. Four painful weeks of withdrawal and verbal berating later, Dean was allowed to return home, with a warning that he would be quickly dragged back should something like that happen again. His guilt at seeing Bobby’s disappointed and Sam’s betrayed look had kept him on the straight and narrow for a long time. Until last night that was. Dean rubbed his face angrily, brushing his still damp hair off his face. He was so fucking pissed. He had promised Sam that he would never lose control like that again. He didn’t even think before pouring himself his third, fourth, then fifth drink. If it hadn’t been for the stupid angel, he wouldn’t be feeling so awful now. Dean tried to convince himself that that was why he was so irritated. Not at all because he had just gotten off simply on the memory of the creature’s grace, he reasoned, annoyed. _Fucking angel!_ Dean thought as he slid open the training room door.

Castiel was dozing in a tight heap on the floor. He had his arms wrapped around his legs and head nestled between his knees. As Dean approached he could hear the soft deep breaths the angel was making. He walked purposefully back into the living area and shifted some wood around in the fireplace. Using smaller twigs as kindling, Dean started a healthy flame. He watched the fire as he crouched beside the fireplace. He poked at a log and opened the vent, ears straining when he heard movement in the next room. Castiel was awake and groggily sitting up. Dean saw him watching, dropped the iron poker into the flame and dusted off of his hands. He walked back into the training room, mindful of the fragrance wafting off of the angel. Castiel was sitting somewhat casually, legs folded beneath him, shackled arms resting on the cold floor. His head was resting on the wall watching Dean as he stepped closer, angel blade in hand.

Dean didn’t bother with a chair, instead lowering himself down to sit in front of the creature. He eyed the semi-naked form before him, noting the pale pink pallor and evenness of Castiel’s face. The swelling on his eye and his bruises looked healed under the layers of grime. Dean’s heart fluttered at seeing the angel’s soft bloodstained lips part to take a deep breath of air. Castiel’s hair was dull and plastered to his head with blood. Dean unthinking moved forward, noting the brief look of fear in the angel’s eyes before it smoothed out to indifference. He smirked at the creature’s bravery as he laid his knees an inch away from the crossed legs. He could see Castiel’s blue eyes clearly now, the colour muted in the dark space. Dean lifted the hand holding the angel blade and bought it to the angle’s brow. Castiel froze, trying hard to maintain a facade of calm, but failing miserably. Dean traced the knife down the creatures face, allowing the cold metal to press just hard enough to avoid slicing. The angel’s breath was now erratic.

“Well, angel. Your reward last night was well-earned,” Dean growled. “But today is a whole new day. And you have another chance at doing the right thing. You might just get another reward.” He trailed the knife down the angel’s neck, dipping into his collarbones, before running circles around his nipples. Castiel gasped as the knife slid past his heart and down into his navel. His eyes stayed on Dean’s face, lips twitching with discomfort and expression now panicked. “Are you ready to listen to my orders or do you need a reminder of what happens when you piss me off?” The cool metal and words made the angel shiver, Dean noted. Castiel swallowed hard, pulling his hands closer to his body, sub-consciously protecting his sides. He nodded minutely, gaze never leaving Dean’s.

Dean pulled the blade off the angel’s skin and slipped it into his belt before grabbing the creature’s hair. Castiel yelped in surprise as he was yanked to his feet. Dean made quick work of the chains, undoing them and letting them swing back onto the walls with a clang. He dragged the angel to the center of the room and placed a hand on Castiel’s chest, fingers wide. “Stay,” he ordered. This was a simple enough order but one so often disobeyed. The angel stayed.

Dean stalked over to the workbench. He found what he wanted and walked back to secure the electrified collar around the creature’s neck. Castiel did not fight but flinched violently as the metal settled on his neck. Dean held the collar’s accompanying remote in his hand. He lifted the object up to Castiel’s eye-line. “One click of this and you will have so much current passing through you, angel, that your wings will get singed. I strongly suggest you don’t compel me to use this.” Castiel followed the remote, lips pursed in a grimace. He nodded again.

Dean swapped the remote to his left hand and pulled out the angel blade. He took a step to the side and Castiel turned his head to watch him. Dean swung his hand holding the blade to catch the angel’s cheek. Castiel stumbled in pain and surprise. Dean allowed the angel to right himself again before saying, “I said stay. Eyes to the ground.” The metal had connected with the angel’s mouth, and blood dripped down the creatures chin. Castiel straightened his hands beside him and looked straight ahead, lips pressed tightly together despite the pain Dean knew was present. 

Dean pressed the angel blade against the creature’s neck, just below his hairline. “Eyes down. Now.” Castiel huffed but slowly lowered his gaze. Dean took a step to the angel’s right, noting that its stance remained the same. He took another step and then another. When he was standing directly behind the angel he pulled away the blade. Dean stood behind the angel, quietly marveling at the creature’s toned shoulders and beautifully curved back. He could tell that Castiel was twitching slightly in discomfort and fear at not being able to see what Dean was doing. Dean let the angel suffer in silence for a few more minutes while he enjoyed the view. He placed the remote in his pocket before slowly and unthinkingly extending his hand and cupping the angel’s ass.

Castiel jumped forward so fast that Dean almost stabbed him. The angel looked at him accusingly, which made Dean want to laugh but he knew that he needed to get a handle on the situation. He grabbed the angel’s arm and twisted it around him, pinning it effortlessly behind his back. The angel fought back vainly, energy drained from healing himself. Dean put pressure on the arm, knowing that the pain in the joint would be unbearable now. Castiel stilled, protests dying on his lips. He was breathing hard; head slumped forward against his chest in defeat. “Good angel,” Dean allowed. He slowly released the creature’s arm. “Last chance. Move again and you fry like a rabbit caught in a electric fence.” Castiel opened his mouth as if to say something but instead opted for a dejected nod.

When Dean reached for the angel’s ass again, he felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t even wanted to touch the creature; his early move had just been stupid impulse. But he couldn’t back down now. It wasn’t a question of submission but rather obedience. Dean gritted his teeth in anger. He shouldn’t feel guilty about doing his fucking job! It wasn’t as if it was the first time he needed to do this. Why was it so hard now? He allowed himself to knead Castiel’s backside, listening to the soft gasps of protest. Dean wouldn’t deny that he had wanted to do this since the first time he had laid eyes on the angel but not really like this. He stopped his ministrations when was sure that the creature was not going to make a move to disobey. Dean could almost hear the sigh of relief when he stepped back. He didn’t let Castiel relax for long before barking, “Strip.”

Castiel’s head jerked up, but he did not turn. “What?” he asked in a quiet, disbelieving voice. His body was now trembling in effort to stay still.

“You heard me, angel. Strip.” Dean walked back around to stand in front of Castiel, meeting his apprehensive eyes. Castiel looked affronted and Dean could see his azure eyes glinting with extra moisture. The angel’s gaze did not leave his, as he slowly unbuttoned and pushed down his pants. Dean watched as two fingers were slipped below the elastic of the white boxers and also hesitantly lowered. Castiel was breathing hard now, chest rising and falling with emotion. He finally looked away and stepped out of the clothes, kicking them weakly.

Dean folded his arms to stop the urge to cup the creature’s face and kiss his now trembling mouth. He didn’t think angels were supposed to be very modest; their bodies were simply meat suits. Well, that how all the other angels had been. True, the female ones had no problem exploiting their skin to get in Dean’s favor but never had one been so dismayed at having to undress in front of him. Castiel was all sorts of unusual.

“Good, angel,” Dean replied in a soft voice. “I am very pleased with you.”

Castiel looked up slightly but did not move. Dean took a few moments to ogle at the angel’s beautifully toned body. The creature’s arms and legs looked strong yet delicate, fingers were long and pale. His soft creamy torso led down to tantalizingly shaped hipbones and a trail of dark hair followed down from Castiel’s navel. Dean’s eyes were finally drawn to the flaccid flesh between the angel’s legs. He normally didn’t have much to say about penises but the only word that sprung into mind at that exact moment was ‘pretty’.

“Um, could you please stop staring at me?” Dean almost jumped at Castiel’s gravelly voice. Heat flushed into his face. He hadn’t even realized that he had been openly staring at another man’s dick. Sure, back in the day, Dean was very much partial to that particular organ, but that had been years ago! But then again, Castiel was not a man. He was an angel. And he was Dean’s to break and train. Dean swung the angel blade in his hand and stepped closer.

“No, Castiel. I will not stop staring at you, “ Dean said in a matter-of-fact voice. The angel met his eyes with a challenge in his own. “Because you are mine. And I can do whatever the fuck I want to do with you.”

Dean tried not to twitch when Castiel growled, “I am not yours. I am an angel of heaven.” Dean frowned and moved the angel blade to Castiel’s neck, tracing the blade along the bump of the creatures Adam’s apple. “If anyone’s, I am God’s. You. Do. Not. Own. Me,” the angel spat.

Dean blinked in surprise. The venom that seeped through the angel’s tone was unexpected. Castiel was definitely more defiant than he was letting on. Obedience was one thing, but he really needed the angel to submit and accept that he was now owned. This would require some firmer actions on Dean’s part. Dean removed the blade and stepped back. Castiel looked warily pleased, watching as he placed the blade down on the table and walked back into the living space.

Dean reached the fireplace and picked up the poker that he had dropped in earlier. It was now a nice cherry-red. Dean could feel the heat radiating off its iron length. He had considered using the electric collar as a deterrent, but that would only cause incapacitating damage. The angel would no doubt be knocked out. He needed the creature very much awake for what he was about to do. Dean walked back into the training space, carefully carrying the fiery tool.

 

When Castiel’s eyes fell on the poker, he stood ramrod straight, eyes widened in fear. As Dean stepped closer, the angel matched each step with one of his own, backwards. It wasn’t long before Castiel’s back was pressed against the cold concrete wall. He was heaving like an animal caught in a trap. Dean moved close enough for the poker’s heat to be felt slightly on the angel’s skin.

“You are mine, angel. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be,” Dean said. He shifted the poker to hover it above Castiel’s right shoulder. “This is your one chance to convince to me that I shouldn’t sear you like a fillet. Show me your wings,” Dean ordered. He needed to set the boundaries now. Castiel was unlike any other angel he had trained. He had an infuriating resistance to Dean’s threats and warnings. Last night was never going to happen again, if he could help it. Future masters weren’t going to want an angel slave that only listened if they used a bargaining chip. The sole purpose of having a slave was so that the owner could use their property as they saw fit. A creature that was mouthy, defiant and disobedient was definitely not good selling material. If Benny was going to make this sale, Dean needed to step up his game. He was also royally pissed about his misstep last night and the hangover made it very difficult to forget how badly he had screwed up.

Castiel’s frightened blue eyes stayed on the red tip when he pleaded. “Please, don’t make me do this.” The poker inched closer to his skin. “I am begging you. Please. I cannot do it.”

Dean watched the angel cower in fear and could now smell a change in the Castiel’s grace. The scent had a tangy, sour smell to it. Dean didn’t like it. It smelt off. He moved the poker back marginally. Castiel took this opening to slip to his knees. “I cannot show you my wings. They are holy.” He gripped his hands together before him in a pleading gesture. “They are the only part of me that cannot be healed if they are hurt permanently. I will not be able to return to heaven when my work is done.”

Dean shook his head, both to deny the Castiel’s words and to clear away the effect of the grace. “Work?” he asked. “What work?” Castiel looked torn but answered.

“I have been sent to find my brothers and sisters. Those that are not captured are hurt and cannot return to heaven. I need to bring them home.” Castiel stared up at Dean. “If you injure my wings, I cannot help them. They will be lost here, hunted and enslaved.”

Dean moved the poker back, holding mere inches away from Castiel’s chest, like a gun. “Angel, you cannot save anyone. You can’t even save yourself,” he stated. “You will do as I say. Or I will make you wish that you were dead.” Castiel lowered his head onto his hands, with a silent sob. “Show me your wings, Castiel.”

“No,” the angel said dismayed and shook his head. He didn’t see when the red-hot weapon was lowered onto his shoulder. Castiel bucked in pain, screaming as the metal scorched his ivory flesh. Dean smelt the nasty stench of burning skin and pulled the poker back. The angel was now cowering against the wall, one arm held out futilely to prevent Dean’s attack. “Please! Stop. Don’t make me do it. It is wrong. God would not want this. You don’t want to do this. Please-” Castiel was cut off as Dean pressed the burning metal onto his thigh. He bellowed in pain and kicked his leg out, catching Dean in the shin, hard. Dean stumbled back and glared at the creature. He could guarantee that his leg would be bruised brilliantly tomorrow.

“Bad move, angel. You are doing nothing to convince me to stop,” he snarled. He lowered the metal onto the angel’s abdomen, just over his hipbone. The creature’s screams rang through the room. The smell of the burnt skin and sour grace was making Dean feel queasy. He suspected the fading effects of the hangover could also be contributing. He moved the poker closer to Castiel’s face. “Last chance, Castiel. Or this will be going through your eye.”

Castiel looked at the poker and then up at Dean pleadingly. He made no other move. Dean sighed. He had hoped that he wouldn’t have to do this. As much as he knew this was necessary to the training, the idea of doing the terrible deed made him cringe. He had just moved to push the poker through the angel’s left eye when suddenly he saw a flicker of black and blue flare up. Dean blinked once and the flicker was gone. This hadn’t been what he had meant but he would take what he could at this point. He pulled the poker back and looked down at the creature sprawled, exhausted, on the floor.

“There,” Castiel said resigned. “I did as you asked. Please, no more.” The angel slowly and painfully pulled himself back against the wall. He folded his naked body in and pressed his tear-streaked face into folded arms. The next words were mumbled but Dean could hear them as clearly as if they were yelled in his ear.

“Listen to me, Lord, and answer me, for I am helpless and weak.”

Dean’s stomach dropped when he heard the Psalm. He had listened to Sam reciting these words once or twice when things got particularly violent at home. Sam’s belief in God was his way of coping. Dean’s had been to look after Sam. Hearing the words now made him feel nostalgic and sick.

“Save me from death, because I am loyal to you; save me, for I am your servant and I trust in you.”

Dean stepped back slowly, trying to stop the feeling of remorse that was rising inside him. This was necessary, he reasoned with himself. I needed to do it.  
 “You are my God, so be merciful to me; I pray to you all day long.” Castiel’s voice was raw and broken. “Make your servant glad, O Lord, because my prayers go up to you.”

Dean walked out of the training unit and had almost slid closed the door when he heard; “You are good to us and forgiving, full of constant love for all who pray to you. Save me, O Lord. And save this man, who is burdened by his sins. ”

Dean pulled the door closed with a bang. His head was buzzing with the words. He dropped the poker back into the fireplace and sat down clumsily. While he was grateful that the angel had finally listened to him, he could not shake this uneasy feeling in his chest. That would be enough training for now, he thought. He laid his head back onto the arm of the couch and lifted his legs up to rest more comfortably. Dean rubbed a hand over his forehead. Why was this happening to him? Why couldn’t Castiel be just another job for him? He hated that every step he made to break the angel was making him shrink a little inside. The Psalm’s lyrics whirred around his mind.

“I am helpless and weak…save me from death”

“You are good to us and forgiving, full of constant love…”

And the last words the angel had uttered. They had stung Dean somewhere he could not place.

“And save this man, who is burdened by his sins.”

Dean did not know when he had closed his eyes but when he did the image of the angel, pleading on his knees, stayed seared behind his lids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, that was intense to write. For those who are interested, that was Psalm 86: A Prayer for Help.
> 
> I promise I don't hate these characters and that things will get better soon. :]


	8. Hellhounds on the Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have words for how sorry I am for the extreme delay in uploading this chapter. I have had wave after wave of work at work... AND THEN I had to go and suffer writers' block. Not a good turn. 
> 
> Anyway. Here is the latest chapter. Enjoy =)

Dean went back into the training room hours later. Even then, he only walked into the room to place a plastic glass of water beside the cowering form. The angel didn’t meet his eyes when he approached but tightened into himself. After a moment of deliberation, Dean walked back into the living space to grab a worn, woolen blanket that was draped over the couch. The very blanket that he used to use when he was a small child, huddled in the single-seater with Sam, watching Saturday morning cartoons. When he walked back into the training area, the angel had moved back to the space between the two cages. The glass of water was on its side, water tipped out. 

Dean couldn’t bring himself to be angry or even surprised. If he was being honest, he didn’t think he would trust someone who had essentially molested and then branded him, either. Feeling guilt like a bone-grinding ache, Dean simply lowered the blanket beside one of the cages and had left the angel to heal in peace. 

Dean’s impromptu nap had eaten away at the day and it was almost noon. He dragged himself back upstairs and made himself a strong cup of coffee. The dark brown liquid pulled him out of his grogginess and finally dissipated the last of his hangover. Dean didn’t feel up to walking back downstairs and making any attempts on the injured creature so he instead changed into his exercise outfit. He needed to work out some of his pent-up energy. 

The run was surprisingly invigorating. Maybe Sammy had a point after all, Dean thought, as he puffed his way to the nearest park, drink bottle in hand. The park was empty at this time of day; with the early morning joggers having finished their laps and young children not yet liberated from school. Dean forced himself to run several laps around the oval before stopping for a drink of water. He staggered over to the wooden bench beside the walkway and sat down heavily. He was definitely out of shape and that should have really bothered him more than it did. His father, had he been alive and kicking, would have had something unsavory to say about that. Dean slowly sipped on the cold, sweating bottle, feeling the liquid seep down through his tired chest. He closed his eyes and rested his elbows on his knees. The air was frigid and smelt of freshly mowed grass. It made thinking about what had happened the night before a lot more bearable. 

Dean could almost smell the stench of burning flesh in his mind and it made him want to gag. The sight of the marred skin, a stark contrast against the angel’s pristine creamy flesh would be an image that would haunt him for the foreseeable future. He cringed at the thought of what he would have felt had he actually blinded the unfortunate creature. Dean pressed the water bottle against his beaded forehead, condensation and perspiration now dripping down his heated face. His eyes stung and Dean could not tell if it were because of the strenuous workout or an emotion he would deny that he was feeling. What he had done hadn’t been all that different to what he used to do to angels in the past but never had he felt so out of control doing his job. The unpredictable ups and downs he was feeling were painful and head spinning. 

Dean allowed himself a few more minutes of self-wallowing before pulling himself together and away from the bench. He walked back into the house quietly, listening to the mundane sounds of suburbia. Dean watched a young mother fuss with a wailing baby, a grumpy old man argue with his mailman and local dogs growl as he walked past their house. He would have never imagined that this would be his life. Before his father had passed away and he had met Lisa, he only pictured living the bare life of a trainer. Dean thought that, like his father, he would be living out of shitty motels for the rest of his life; eating whatever crappy meals he could afford with meager hustling gigs as they both travelled the country capturing wild angels. The training had always been the easiest part of the job. Hauling their finds back home for “preparation” was almost fun. _Once_. 

After he had met Lisa, he had a chance, for the first time in his life, to imagine a future that wasn’t etched on tiny grains of sand slipping down an hourglass. Each day wasn’t an uphill battle in a dangerous and ever-changing job. He could plan days or even months in advance without the uncertainty of where he would next lay down his head or get a hot meal. Life had been safe, yes, but the predictability of every waking minute soon started to drive Dean mad. Hunting and training angels was his true talent. He couldn’t remember a time before it. The hatred and anger against the winged creatures came easily to Dean, as it was a tune that was sung to him since he was a toddler. Being frightened of the dark and the dangers within it was something uncommon to the Winchester boys. But the angels were always held at an arm’s length. They were the minions of the devil. Fuck, even Lucifer was an angel once. It didn’t give a little boy much less than nightmares when he was scared of the shadows on the windowsill. 

All these ideas and memories seemed like a lie to Dean now. He had played his role in the capturing and ridding the world of the winged pests. He was even very good at this. Not as good as his father but pretty damn good! Most trainers came to him for advice on how to break angels. He would always happily oblige, concocting new and more inventive ways to bend the wild creature to his needs. In the past, he subscribed to the idea that angels were destructors and notorious. But that was because, never before had he met an angel like Castiel. 

Dean sped up a little, feeling the midday sun bear down on him. He needed to get back home. He wanted to see the angel. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but it felt like a longing throb in his stomach. He needed to see Castiel’s beautiful face and run his hands down his soft skin. Dean wanted to feel the heat of the burns beneath his fingers as they healed and kiss the dampness under his eyes. He needed to press himself against the creature’s lithe body breathing in its alluring and addictive fragrance. Castiel’s baby blues flashed into Dean’s mind, almost blinding him as he felt like he was falling into the depths of the angel’s burning grace. In his hurry to get home Dean almost did not realize that a car was parked on his lawn. 

He stopped short on the pebbled walkway as a man in a tailed black suit slid out of the car. The man was relatively short and had dark, smooth hair. He sauntered his way over to where Dean, a smirk distorting his face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester,” the man greeted in a polished British accent. His voice was deep and bled a sense of smug aristocracy. He looked to be in his mid-forties with a handsome, distinctly familiar face, but Dean could not quite place it. He extended his hand and Dean took it after a moment of staring at it. 

“Dean,” he corrected automatically. “Mr. Winchester was my late father.” The man hummed understandingly, patting Dean’s hand with his other. Dean fought the urge to yank back his hand. 

“Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Dean.” The man released Dean’s hand and stepped away. “You and your father used to be quite a legendary team. Many hunters and trainers spoke highly of you.” 

Dean shifted his stance uncomfortably. He didn’t much like talking about his father or taking a compliment. “I don’t know about that. We helped where we could.” He looked at the man’s car that was haphazardly parked on his lawn in a way that made it impossible to miss when trying to get to the front door. It was an expensive car, Dean could tell. Even if his interest lay with classic cars, he had a working knowledge of what cost the big bucks. There was no need for someone who owned a car worth more than half a house to be coming to meet him. “How can help you, Mr…”

“Crowley,” the man finished. “Just Crowley. I am the proprietor of the Hell and Soul Training establishment.” Dean nodded politely, finally putting a name to the familiar face. Crowley had featured in many training magazines and was one of the most influential bigwigs in the business. He was known for his shady angel trafficking antics and cutthroat associations with trainers. If you made a deal with Crowley or one of his many associates in this business, you might as well have sold your soul to the Devil. “I am here to enquire after an asset of mine.” 

Dean knew what this meant and he could guess where this was going. He casually unscrewed the lid of his bottle and took a few leisurely sips. “Look, man, I am not in the business anymore. I can’t help you.” He looked down at Crowley trying to emulate boredom. “I haven’t spoken to any trainers in a while.”

Crowley lowered his lids fractionally, fixing Dean with a penetrating glare. “Are you certain, Dean?” The way he said Dean’s name made his hair stand up. “My sources say that Benny Lafitte visited this area 2 days ago. And this address is the only one registered in the trainers’ annals for a 10-mile radius.” Dean’s heart was pounding in his ears. He was not scared for himself but for Benny. If the dogs had made it this far and caught scent of his trail so soon, it meant that they were closing in on him. And that was bad. Very, very bad. 

He didn’t think he could much at this point to throw them off the trail but he could try. He sighed dramatically and cocked his head arrogantly. “Like I said. I can’t help you. Benny hasn’t contacted me. I haven’t even spoken to him in 5 odd years or something.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’ll tell you what, I can give you a call if I hear from him. What is your number?”

Crowley looked irritated like he was looking at a 5-year-old’s temper tantrum. He visibly composed his expression into casual disinterest and smiled. “That would be great, Mr. Winchester.” He smirked deeper at Dean’s frown and said, “The number is 6-6-6.”

Dean dutifully keyed in the three numbers and looked up expectantly for the remaining figures. Crowley just cocked an eyebrow conceitedly and Dean scoffed, impressed. He saved the number as ‘King of Hell,’ before sliding the phone back into his pocket. “If that was it, I need to go take a shower.” He wiped his head on his sleeve as an explanation and Crowley cackled softly. 

“Of course. I will be hearing from you soon, I hope.” He reached inside his jacket and handed him a black business card. “These are my details. Come by the office if you are in Chicago. I could have some nice opportunities for a talented man like yourself.” 

Dean nodded tightly and shook the offered hand again. “Will do.” Crowley gave him one more knowing look before strutting over to his car. As he opened the door, a thought occurred to Dean and he called out, “Crowley!” The older man spun with ease and trained his eyes on Dean. “Why would you, the head haunch, be out slumming around searching for a runaway? Why not send one of your hounds?” 

Crowley’s guarded face didn’t disclose any emotion at all. “Mr. Lafitte has, in his possession a rare and priceless specimen. He was instructed to bring the item directly to me once he retrieved it but he disappeared with it.” Crowley looked away, face now murderous. “The bloody nitwits I sent all came back with nothing. Lafitte has escaped from even my best trackers. Can’t send a demon to do the devil’s job I’m afraid.” 

Dean met his eye and hummed understandingly. Crowley waved a two-finger good-bye and got into his car. Dean tried not to moan in pleasure at the gently vroom of the car at it was ignited. He still prefers the roar of his own baby but he knew how to appreciate exquisite machinery. Crowley back out of his lawn dangerously fast and was speeding down his street before Dean made it to his doorway. 

He unlocked and slipped into the cool house, shivering slightly at the change of temperature from the warm sun outside. He went into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Grabbing a beer guiltily Dean made his way into the living room. His earlier thoughts of visiting Castiel were pushed to the back of his mind, and now replaced with worries of Benny. Where was he and how much longer could he evade one of the industry’s best trackers? Crowley may look distinguished and calm but Dean knew what he was capable of. He hadn’t become the proprietor or ‘King’ of Hell and Soul without stepping over hundreds of heads. Or slitting thousands of throats. Or torturing his way through all that stood in front of his goal. 

Dean shuddered and took at swig from the bottle. He assured himself that this would be the only one he would have tonight as he snatched the remote from the tea table. Dean switched on the TV and flicked through the channels until he found one that was a mindless action film, full of exaggerated fight scenes and pretty, tanned women in short-shorts. All thoughts of the gorgeous blue-eyed angel below or a troubled Benny hiding desperately in the shadows; left his mind as he sank deeper into the couch and drank deeply from his bottle. 

***

The next day at the garage Dean felt all kinds of messed up. He tried to immerse himself into the feel of warm rubber and the strong tangy scent of gasoline but couldn’t keep troubling thoughts out of his head. Bobby could see that he was not in the right mindset and gave his menial, basic jobs, not confident enough to hand him something as dangerous as a welding tool. Dean was thankful but felt guilty for slacking off. He finished his scheduled car services and offered to do some of the paperwork as well. Bobby who usually had to threaten him with a customer consultant shift in order to convince him to do his bookkeeping, nearly dropped the wrench he was holding. Dean was normally notorious for finding ways of evading filing as much as he could and Bobby simply shook his head and called him an ‘idjit.’

Charlie, the peppy, redhead intern, was furiously texting when Dean walking into the garage’s office to grab his folders. She looked up at him in surprise when he slid over to the bureau. “Heya Dean! Haven’t seen you around these parts in a while,” she joked briefly before tapping at her phone again. Dean could swear that her fingers were a blur. She helped at the office a few days a week, keeping the phones attended and mostly doing Dean’s paperwork, which started to pile up after a while. Dean should appreciate her more than he did. She was a great kid as a far as a college students went. 

“Err, Hi Charlie. How are you doing?” Dean pulled his folders out of the filing unit and hauled them over to the large wooden table Charlie was sitting at. “Been busy in here?” 

“I’m fabulous,” she answered in a loftily voice. Her eyes were still glued to the white screen on her phone. “Mostly filling in the order forms today. That, and your paperwork. The ushe…”

“Ah about that. Thanks,” Dean said. Charlie offered him a half-smile before turning her attention back to her chirping device. “Chatting up someone special there?” Dean asked, fully expecting, and hoping, to get ignored. He opened up the first folder, which had his monthly service expenses, fighting the urge to groan. He hated paperwork. 

“Yes, actually. I met this stunning brunette last night at study hall. She agreed for our first date to be at a D & D comp last night but today she is insisting we go to a concert instead. What’s so romantic about loud music and sticky floors? Gosh.”

Dean blinked trying but failing to decipher Charlie’s words. “D & D?”

“Dungeons and Dragons, Dean. Come on,” she answered in an exasperated voice. “We decided that it would be that or LARPing this weekend.” Charlie held up her phone and Dean saw a heavily made-up, selfie of a brown haired lady. “Her name is Meg. She is all about the Gothic stuff now, you know.” 

Dean couldn’t really see too much romantic about a Dungeons and Dragons competition either but he didn’t really want to have this conversation with a hardcore fan. He wasn’t even going to attempt to understand what ‘LARPing’ meant. He nodded understandingly and started to scribble notes onto his logbooks. Charlie went back to her phone, like she was descending into battle. 

They working in comfortable silence for a little while before the shrill of the phone shocked them both. Charlie gave Dean a withering look before picking up the ancient handset. 

“Hello, this is Bobby’s Salvage and Service Garage, Charlie speaking.” Charlie recited the well-worn line into the phone, in a monotone that could put a statue to sleep. Her face changed drastically as she listened to the call. “HELLO?! You better talk buddy. I am this close to tracing this call, and don’t think I can’t,” she yelled into the phone. Dean who was watching in silence, had no doubt that Charlie could find the person, their bank details, postal address, parents’ retirement situation, childhood illness and their online shopping preferences faster than the person could put the phone down. She wasn’t only hired for her impeccable bookkeeping but also for her uncanny ability to help Bobby keep track of his more shady colleagues. While Bobby was not in the business anymore he still helped hunters and trainers who needed resources. 

Charlie listened for a few more moments before yelling “GO FUCK YOURSELF,”and all but slamming the phone down into its cradle. “That was the billionth time some lunatic has called the garage and just breathed into the phone. It’s freaky as crap.” She picked up her phone again and started clicking away. Dean went back to his papers, trying to recall the name of the customer who brought in a yellow mustang with silver rims. He was starting to understand why Bobby insisted the paperwork be done straight away. 

The phone rang again, the sounds sending a resounding noise through the quite room. Charlie looked livid. “If it’s that creep again, I’m going to give the little punk a piece of my mind,” she said as she pushed up her plaid sleeves and reached for the phone. Dean beat her to it, putting his hands over the handle before Charlie could.

“Let me get it. I bet the guy is just calling to hear your beautiful feminine tone,” he teased. Charlie flipped him off casually before settling back into her seat. She pulled her laptop towards her and opened up her Netflix page. Dean waited until he could hear the sounds of some dramatic altercation between two emotional teenage girls, and then lifted the phone to his ear. 

“Hello, this is Dean.” 

“Dean,” the gruff voice replied in relief. “Thank fuck. I didn’t know what I would do if I got that freaky lady again.” Dean would have smirked at Charlie then if he didn’t recognized the voice. He lowered his voice and spoke quietly into the phone so that Charlie could not hear. 

“Benny. Buddy, I’ve been worried. Crowley came to my house and-“

“Dean, it’s ok,” Benny placated. “I know. I saw him at the motel lobby I was staying at. I got out through the fire escape.” Dean felt like a boulder had been lifted off his chest. “I caught scent of Crowley’s dogs a couple of weeks ago but I managed to slip past them,” Benny said sounding tired and wrecked. 

“Where are you now?” Dean asked in hushed tones. 

“Some gas-and-sip down south. I think Crowley is watching you. That’s why I called the garage. We need to stay out of touch for a few days.” Dean nodded, even if he knew that Benny couldn’t see it. “I just called to tell you, err… I need some cash, Dean. At least five grand. I have a mate making me some fake merch’. ID cards, passports the whole deal. I feel bad for asking more from you. But it’s been a real shit-storm with Crowley on my ass and-“

“I understand,” it was Dean’s turn to interrupt. “Benny I just don’t have that sort of cash on me now.” He felt like crap saying it but it was the truth. Who held that much cash on hand these days? “I could move some money around in my accounts but I’m sure Crowley is watching them too.” Dean signed, gnawing his lip for a few seconds and looked over at Charlie. He considered asking her for help but he didn’t want to get her into any trouble. The Hellhounds were hardened criminals employed by Crowley to hunt trainers and rip to shreds anyone who got in their way. He shuddered to think what they might do to Charlie. 

“Look, Dean, I understand. It was stupid for me to ask you anyway.” Benny sounded like he was shifting the phone to the other ear. “You are already doing too much for me.”

Dean felt pained. He hated that he had delayed so much on his training of Castiel. If hadn’t been such an idiot about his feelings, the angel might be half-ready to give to Benny. “I’m sorry, man. I really am.” 

“Don’t be. It was my fucking, stupid idea to get involved with Crowley. I felt like I sold my soul to him the day I signed my name on his contract. Don’t worry. I will find another way.” Benny sounded resigned, “I’ve got to go, Dean. I can’t be in one place too long.”

A thought occurred to Dean and he almost yelled into the phone. “Wait, Benny!” Dean whispered tightly into the phone. “I think I know a way to help you.” Benny drew breath slowly and hummed his interest. “Do you think the guy would accept any other form of payment?”

Benny sounded amused when he replied, “I know he is a sleazy dick, but I’m not sitting in his lap for all the money in the world, Dean.”

Dean bypassed the remark to say, “No, Benny, what about angel feathers? We have a freaking goldmine tied up in my basement. A few of them and you can pay for both your cards and passport. If I can maybe extract a bit of grace as well, you can get a plane ticket wherever you need to go.”

Benny inhaled sharply. “Dean, that would be great, buddy. Can you do that?” Dean could also hear Benny’s smile. 

“Yes, I can have the feathers ready for you in two days, max. Can you send someone to pick them up or do you want me to bring them to you?” 

“No, you can’t come meet me. That will tip them off. Err, I can call in a few favors. Just get them ready for me. I will organize someone to pick them up.”

“Sure Benny. I can do that,” Dean pulled the phone closer to the mouth and said, “By the way. What do you have that Crowley wants so bad? He made it sound like it was the holy fucking grail.”

Benny was silent for a few seconds before answering, “Its best you don’t know, mate. The less you know, the safer you are.”

Dean almost growled into the phone. “I can handle myself, Benny. What is the ‘priceless specimen?’” Dean attempted Crowley’s snotty accent. 

Benny huffed into the phone but didn’t answer the question. “I have to go, Dean. Thank you so much. I always knew I could count on you, mate.”

Dean was irritated that Benny evaded the question but let it slide. “What are family for?” He replied and listened until he heard the click of the payphone being dropped back into its holder. Dean sighed deeply and picked up his folders. Charlie almost swore in surprise when he dropped them half onto her laptop. 

“I gotta run, Charlie. Finish these off for me, will you?” He had to get home and soon. It was almost 3 and he needed to pick up a few things from the shop to get his work done. 

Charlie looked at him disinterestedly as she closed her laptop. “And just when I thought I could fly a pig into work tomorrow,” she said dryly and flicked open Dean’s folder. “I bet that was a hot date that called, huh? I get it. You go sow them wild oats.” Dean gave Charlie a wide smile and flipped open his phone. 

“Here,” he said as he pressed send. “I sent you the address of my other place. I’m at my dad’s old place for a few days. So, concert or D&D comp, if you get lucky with this brunette, bring her over to this address. Might be more romantic than taking her back to your crummy apartment.” Dean slid his phone back into his pocket and said, “Key’s under the mat on the back porch. I got a Jacuzzi in the master bedroom.”

Charlie was looking at him like he had just pulled a golden leprechaun out of his ear. “Dean. Thank you. Omigod! Thank you.” She got up to pull him into an awkward side hug and Dean leaned down to receive it. 

“That’s alright, Kiddo. Just clean up what you use, OK? And tell Bobby, I might be in late tomorrow.” Dean said as Charlie sat back down into the swivel chair with a new vigor. 

“Done and done, Dean McBean,” she replied in a sweet tone, and she waved as Dean hurried out to his car.


	9. Love and Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have been changing like crazy lately and I haven't had a spare moment to simply sit down and give this story the time and attention it deserves. Thanks a million to those who are sticking by the story even if I take eons to update each time. I appreciate the support and I hope to update again soon. <3 you all. Enjoy!

Dean wasn’t a big fan of shopping. He hated the crowds, the unpredictability of parking spots (that could result in a scratch on his ‘Baby’) and the stuffy trollies that had minds of their own. Sam once tried to introduce him to the wonders of online shopping but Dean swore that the potential evils of the option outweighed the benefits. Once he had made his purchases at what could only be described as a seedy-looking merchant who’s shop fronted as Asian take-away joint, Dean hurried back home to begin his work. 

Dean was ravenous by the time he came home, which resulted in a frozen pasta meal and four sugared donuts being demolished in record time. Finding the precious, silvery bands was a harder task than he had anticipated. Not to mention, they had cost him more than 3 tanks of gas. But Dean wasn’t complaining. He had gone out of his way to visit the store that had the highest quality clipping bands. There was a box of sub-par ones stuffed at the back of his father’s training closet, but Dean wasn’t prepared to take any risks with Castiel.

After a few minutes of deliberation, as to what food could be considered the least dangerous, Dean decided to heat up a tin of soup. He only heated it until it was tepid, not wanted to risk a face full of scalding creamy mushroom. Balancing the plastic bowl of soup, his father’s training diary and the duffel containing the precious metal bands, Dean slowly made his way down the dusty steps. 

It was starting to be a real pain that Dean always managed to underestimate the effect the grace had on him. By the time, he had ambled down to the training unit; the scent that was already wafting through the partially closed training room door had given him a semi. Dean placed the duffel carefully on the table and tucked the diary under his arm. He carried the bowl over to the creature sprawled next the back wall. 

Castiel was naked. Dean had forgotten this fact when he made his way toward his slim form. The blanket that he had left for the angel was wrapped haphazardly around Castiel’s lower half. Dean had no doubt that the blanket had initially been wrapped tighter than a vice, but now it was loosely draped. Dean was shocked when his face felt hot at the sight of Castiel’s agile form, outlined by the thin blanket. He walked closer, footsteps cringingly loud in the quite room. His eyes follow the line along the angel’s limbs, noting that the bruises and burns were almost gone now, although, the skin that was unmarred, was shaded a distinct tinge of blue. 

‘Crap!’ thought Dean as he felt the coldness of the room seep in through his layers of cloths. He didn’t think that angels could feel the cold. Well, maybe they did feel the cold, but it should definitely not affect them this much. Everything about Castiel was so abnormal and it was making Dean’s head spin. 

He leaned down and placed the bowl gently on the floor beside Castiel’s bent elbow. Dean hurried back into the main living area and stacked piles of wood into the fireplace. He lit the kindle and stoked the fire until there was a healthy glow. ‘I really need to get central heating down here’, he grumbled and he made his way back to the angel. This time his footsteps were reflexively louder and Dean walked in on Castiel violently jerking awake, pulling the worn, multicolored blanket around him, protectively. The bowl had been jostled enough to empty a part of the soup onto the cold concrete floor.

“Easy there, angel,” he said placating and he held up his hands, showing that they were empty. Castiel looked at him as if assessing him as a potential threat. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild as if he had been startled out of a crazy dream. The hair on top of his head was thick and matted, splayed in every which way. Dean had the urge to run his hand through it, flattening it down onto his forehead. Castiel looked down at the soup, which was now spreading along the ground, darkening the concrete. He shifted slightly, repositioning the blanket and releasing his hands from the death grip he had. “Its for you,” Dean said unnecessarily. “Its mushroom soup. Not the tastiest stuff, but it will fill you up.”

Castiel opened his mouth as if to reply but then sighed. He reached down and lifted the bowl up to his lips. The first sip transformed Castiel’s face into a grimace. The second left him looking thoughtful. It wasn’t too long before he was gulping the liquid as fast as he could manage, wetting his dry, raw throat. Dean was surprised. He didn’t expect the angel to take the offering so quickly. He had been prepared to force-feed him if Castiel has refused. It instead seemed that the angel was starved. It baffled Dean how many human characteristics Castiel actually had. Dean knew that healing angels needed a fair degree of sustenance but this was unusual. Castiel drank until all that remained in the bowl were the lumpy unidentifiable vegetable pieces. He lowered the bowl to the ground and met Dean’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he rasped. Dean felt butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t think he deserved to he thanked, considering that only yesterday, he had pressed a hot poker into the angel’s body. 

“Um, you’re welcome,” he replied awkwardly. Dean watched as Castiel moved into a more confortable sitting position and looked up at him expectedly. The angel appeared tired and long-suffering; his shoulders slumped against the wall. Dean took a deep breath of air before walking over to the table and picking up the angel blade. “I don’t want to have any trouble today, angel. You know what will happen if you listen. I can reward you. I want to reward you. But you need to offer me something in return.”

Castiel looked like he had anticipated this. He glanced at the angel blade in Dean’s hand and licked his chapped lips. “What do you want me to do?” Dean smirked a little in relief and moved closer. He slipped the angel blade into his belt, contemplating his next move. He needed to be subtle or this could go very wrong. 

“I want you to do a few simple things for me, okay?” Dean pulled and adjusted the chains that were hanging from the ceiling a couple of feet in front of Castiel. They extended long enough to link to the shackles adorning the angel’s wrists, even if he were kneeling. “Stand up and come here.” Castiel considered the chains hanging from the ceiling for a few moments before slowly pushing himself to his knees. It took him some effort to lift him weak body off of the ground. Finally, the angel stood there, shaking slightly, with the blanket wrapped loosely around his lower half. Castiel’s hand had the material twisted tightly against his upper thigh. Dean wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at modesty or a means of protecting himself from the vulnerability that came with being naked. 

“What do you want from me?” Castiel asked in a small voice. His head was downcast but his shoulders were stiff with determination. 

Dean considered lying to him but thought better of it. “I need you to show me your wings again, angel.” He continued when Castiel met his eyes, “longer than yesterday. I want to touch them.” The angel swallowed and looked conflicted. 

“My wings are sacred. It is a great sin to touch them if you are not worthy,” he reasoned futilely. “Do not bring this misfortune upon your self.” 

“Is that almost a threat, Castiel?” Dean questioned. He had heard that tampering with an angel’s wings was something iniquitous but he also knew that it was a common act among trainers anyway. The way Castiel said it, it almost sounded like Dean was committing the original sin. Another thought occurred to him, “What makes me so unworthy?” Dean knew that he wasn’t a saint and he that was the poster boy for at least three of the seven sins, but he still considered himself overall a good guy. 

“You have confined a solider of God, prohibiting me from fulfilling my righteous mission.” Dean would have scoffed but the look on Castiel’s face made him bite down any coy remark. “Your treatment of me, though unkind, is not your burden. You have simply followed the acts of your father. As his father before him.”

Dean felt the familiar flicker of unease curdle in his stomach. He didn’t like that Castiel always sounded like he was the one in control. His words about Dean and his father made it seem like Dean was the one trapped. He wasn’t! And damn the angel for suggesting it! He almost blurted out an outraged comment about his free will and that he could do any fucking thing that he wanted, but he stopped himself. He needed to act with strategy if he wanted this to work. 

“You’re right, Castiel,” he said agreeing. “I am not worthy. But that does not mean that I can shrink on my job.” He moved forward, with his hand lifted calmingly. “Lets just agree that you will only show me your wings today. I will not touch them, hell, I wouldn’t even breathe on them.” He holds out his hand to take one of Castiel’s into his own. The angel conceded, allowing Dean to hold one of his grimy hands. Dean squeezed the cold fingers into his palm. The digits were soft and unmarred unlike Dean’s own fingers. He felt the slim jolt of pleasure that usually came with skin-to-skin contact. He ran his fingers along Castiel’s knuckles fondly. Warmth was settling in his stomach and he started to feel slightly drowsy. Standing so close, the aroma that permeated from the angelic being was powerful. Dean looked up into Castiel’s eyes. They were an unbelievably, vivid blue. Against the muck and mess that patterned the angel’s face, his eyes seemed almost ethereal. Dean felt his face move closer toward Castiel’s without his volition. He came nearer until his breathe mingled with the angel’s. Dean’s heart fluttered when he felt the hot air heat his lips.

The spell was broken when Castiel looked away and took a step back. It was then that Dean noticed the quiver in his lips and the uncertainty in his body. The angel’s hold on the blanket was unyielding. Castiel’s stance screamed of fear and insecurity. Of course. Castiel did not want to kiss him. Why would he? He probably wouldn’t even touch Dean if he were given the choice. Dean cleared his throat loudly and changed his gentle grip of Castiel’s hand, into a tighter one. He grabbed the angel’s other hand too, prying his fingers off of the material. Castiel protested half-heartedly but didn’t seem to think that there was any use. The blanket settled at his feet exposing his slight body to Dean’s view. He had lost weight, if that was even possible. Dean hastily moved his eyes back to Castiel’s face. If the angel did not want anything sexual then Dean would not push it…just yet. He needed to gain Castiel’s trust if he were to get the feathers. 

Dean pulled Castiel over to the suspended hooks and linked the angel’s shackles into them. The chain was long enough to allow the angel a degree movement but there was no way he would be escaping. Castiel looked at his cuffed hands and said, “If I cooperate, will you give me something in return?”

Dean, who had walked over to the workbench to pull out the bands discreetly out of the bag, turned to face him. “Yes, angel. I will can reward you but you need to earn it.”  
Castiel nodded dejectedly as Dean continued, “What do you want, anyway?”

“I need to speak with one of my brethren,” he responded with urgency. “As I have failed to complete the task that I have been sent to achieve, I must send one of my brothers or sisters to fulfill the mission for me.” Castiel looked absolutely wrecked at the sentiment.

Dean pulled the clipping bands into the large sleeves of his jacket. He had worn this outfit for this very reason. There was slight outline of the metal beneath the material but nothing too conspicuous. “So, all you need is a cell phone, Castiel. That can be arranged.” Dean had no intention of given the angel any communication device. He had no idea what ‘mission’ he was referring to was but he doubted it would be anything good. Dean already had a slight suspicion that Castiel could communicate through prayer. “Isn’t the angel radio working at the moment?” 

Castiel looked confused when Dean met his eye. His head tilted to the side like a massive crow, eyebrows scrunched together. “I have not been able to hear the messages of any of my kin.” Castiel shuffled on the spot. “I have not been in contact with anyone from the garrison for weeks. My mission remains unfinished and something is wrong. I need to know what it is.”

Dean considered this. This did sound very unusual. Something shifty must be happening if there is radio silence between heaven’s winged squad. He would have to call Bobby later and ask if he had heard anything. Living this far away from the active circles of the the training business made it hard to stay in the loop. It would be much easier to just get the mission details off of the angel but Dean knew that that would include much more duress than he had planned for tonight. He had bigger fish to fry right now. “Ok, I can do that.” Dean walked back to Castiel. He slowly moved to stand behind the angel saying, “I can give you anything you want, angel. All I want is one small look at those lovely wings.” 

Castiel still looked conflicted, eyes looking down at the concrete. It was obvious to see that the angel wanted to take Dean up on his offer, but there was still a sneaking distrust he would have developed over the last few days. Dean lowered his voice, letting velvety seduction slip into his words. “Just one look. I will not touch them. If you do as I ask, I will give you what you want. I can help you get in contact with whomever you want.” Dean trailed a finger down Castiel’s shoulder blades, raising a shiver from him. The angel’s back was smooth and untarnished. It was hard to believe that huge, feathered appendages sprouted from it. Would it hurt? He did remember the angel saying that it was not of this dimension or something…

“Alright.” Castiel’s voice was solid and unwavering, cutting through his musings. He lifted his head and Dean saw him roll his shoulders back. “Stand back,” he commanded. Dean was slightly shocked at the intensity of the angel’s voice. He cautiously moved back, eyed glued on the angel standing rigid before him. Castiel took in a deep breath and arched his body smoothly. Dean gasped as two black spikes rose spontaneously out of Castiel’s back.   
There were no real words to explain the phenomenon. Dean had never witnessed an angel raising its wings so close before. It looked like the wings were initially tiny sprouts, then the delicate wings of a sparrow. The size of them increased exponentially, bones solidifying and feathers fanning out gracefully. Dean’s breath got caught in his throat. It was just so magnificent. He knows that he had seen Castiel’s wings before but that was in a low light. They were not out in the open for him to appreciate entirely. Dean could not bring himself to look away. The colour of the wings shimmered and appeared to be moving around. The dark background held all shades of the rainbow and a couple of hues he had never seen before. It looked like it was not of this earth. Castiel stretched his wings out far, almost touching the ceiling a few feet away. They were enormous. 

Dean had the feeling that Castiel was reveling in the ability to stretch his wings also. He could see him moving tiny muscles along the length of the limb. The appendages twitched and shook out, moving all the feathers into place. They looked ruffled and matted in placed, much like the hair on the angel’s head. The section of flesh where the wings met Castiel’s back was a strong muscular branch. Just below it were deep veins that Dean could see were running along the span of the wing, beneath the feathers. There were tiny, coin sized ducts that were distributed in certain places on the wings, where he could only assume grace oil came out of. This heavily scented substance was used by angels to preen and groom one other’s wings. Normally an intimate act, only family members or partners were allowed to perform the task. 

The wings were perfect. Dean didn’t know why he felt this particular emotion. But he just knew. Castiel’s wings were special. And said as such. “Woah angel, your wings are so beautiful,” He whispered. Castiel turned to look at him, shocked. Dean blushed and his red hue was rivaled by the angel’s own face. “I mean, they look pretty neat,” he corrected sheepishly. He lifted his eyebrow questioningly when Castiel continued to stare at him. 

“Normally people do not compliment another’s wings,” Castiel explained. “It is a practice reserved for family members or mates.”

“Mates like friends or mates like partners?” Dean asked. 

Castiel’s blush deepened. “Lovers,” he responded quietly. He turned away, breathing heavily as Dean moved closer, feeling the power emulate from the smoky feathers. He needed to get them. And that meant that he needed to act soon. The wings were required to be extended a little further, so that the long bands could be snapped on easily. If he failed at getting them on in one attempt, then the angel would know that that was his intention and Dean didn’t think he would be getting them on any time soon. 

“Castiel, you just need to spread them a little further, buddy. I want to see how wide your wingspan is.” Castiel nodded and shook his feathers out efficiently. The gesture resembled an athlete shaking out their limbs before a big race. Then, Dean was almost hit with one of the winged branches as the angel pushed them out as far as they could go. It was breathtaking how far they extended. Like his agile body Castiel’s wings were muscular and shapely. They thrummed with energy similar to static before a storm. Dean was tempted to run his fingers up and along the length of the feathers. He wanted to feel the stiffness of the muscled converts, the smoothness of the shimmering feathers and the sleekness of the grace ducts. It was an unnerving feeling; wanting to act against his will. It was something that was happening more and more to him lately. He blamed the angel. Castiel was making him like this. Him and his stupid grace were messing with Dean’s brain. Dean grit his teeth and let the metal clipping bands slip into his palms. 

“My wings once used to be white,” Castiel said in a moderated tone. Dean paused, he needed to act now, but there was a heavy sadness in the angel’s voice that made him falter. “My brothers and sisters used to envy the purity and brightness of the shade.” The angel dropped his head onto his chest, sighing. “Now, it is ridiculed and considered unclean.”

“What happened to them?” Dean asked before he could stop himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t need to know. He just needed to complete his job and move on. 

“There was a dispute in heaven. I was asked by my older brother to sneak into heaven and retrieve something from the most darkest and most depraved depths of hell.” Castiel wrapped his arms around his torso as if to try and shrink in size. “In the process of finding and bringing the item to the surface of the earth, I was burnt with hell fire.” Dean didn’t know what hell was like, but he could guess that being burnt in the wings, the most sensitive part of an angel, would have been excruciating. 

“Was it worth it?” Dean questioned evenly. Castiel looked back at him in confusion. Dean clarified, “Was whatever you got worth the pain?” 

Castiel turned his head away, holding it up high. “I am a solider of the lord. I follow orders. I was sent to complete a task and I will complete it to the best of my ability. Even if it results in some discomfort.” Dean almost snorted out loud. ‘Some discomfort’ could be considered the understatement of the year. “It was imperative that I retrieved what I was sent to get,” the angel finished. 

Dean hummed in agreement. It was probably some angel relic. Angels by nature were deeply religious beings. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was some staff of Moses or Cup of Life. Dean eyed the beautiful dusky feathers. He couldn’t really imagine anyone considering them impure simply because they were scarred. If anything, unlike other wings he had seen, all white or a variation there of, Castiel’s were the most alluring. “Well, your brothers and sisters sound like real douchebags,” Dean commented. “If anything, you show physical proof that you’re a badass.” Dean could have sworn that a sound of derision came out of Castiel’s mouth. “No, really. I bet all those other asshats never set a foot in hell. You traipsed in there and fetched back that thing like a good dog.” Castiel shot him a grumpy look at this but didn’t remark back. Dean continued ignoring the glace, “Just stretch those beautiful wings angel, and let me get a good look at them.”

Castiel smiled a reluctantly shy smile and pushed his wings out further, it definitely looked like he was straining but it made the bold lines of the muscular limbs looks even more incredible. Dean moved closer, shifting the bands into his hand, and opening them up. “That’s right, angel. Just like that. They look so pretty. So damn beautiful,” Dean murmured nonsensically as he concentrated on hovering the bands over the outstretched muscle that linked Castiel’s wings to his back. Castiel blushed and bowed his head, clearly embarrassed by the high praise. 

“Thank you. It is so reviving to have someone appreciate them like this. Though I don’t blame them, most of my sisters and brothers have only viewed them as repulsive since the accident. I know this situation is not ideal but it is very kind of you-“ Castiel’s words were cut short as a painful scream ripped out of him. 

Dean hastily pressed down on the bands, moving his fingers away as the metal heated up to a ramrod red and magically melded closed. Castiel arched his back, trying to swing his wings away from the burning metal. His knees buckled and hit the concrete floor with a cringe worthy thud. His arms strained against the chains, head shaking wildly with unadulterated agony. “Nooooo! Please NO. No. Stop. No. No. No,” Castiel begged as the metal started to fade into fiery amber hue. The angel’s breathing was coming out in pants. The bands, which were about five inches thick, circled the muscular but sensitive adjoining section of Castiel’s wings. The metal was already doing in job in locking them in place and constricting movement. Dean could see that the angel was struggling to flick his wings back, either to escape the hold or to hit him. He stayed behind Castiel, watching as the band dulled down to its initial colour and the frantic jerking subsided to a tired tremble. Dean walked cautiously around to the front of the kneeling form ; almost expecting a globule of spit in his face, but instead met the expression of heartbreak. 

Long and violent sobs racked Castiel’s slim form, almost bending him in half. Dean felt this throat go dry and he was frozen in place, watching as the sweet angelic face contorted in uncontrollable anguish. Dean had never seen an adult man cry so openly and with abandon. It was the type of weeping that demanded empathy from even stoniest of hearts. Dean felt guilt sting its way through his nerves, making him feel skittish and remorseful. Castiel’s face was no longer flushed in shyness but wet with tears that continued to torrid down his face. Dean opened his mouth but then closed it again. Unable to think of a single thing to say that could soften this blow. 

It was necessary. It needed to be done. He needed this. Benny needed this from him. A long line of reassurances surfaced in Dean mind trying to offering him comfort. It was then that Dean noticed the steady stream of words coming out of Castiel’s red quivering lips. 

“You lied. You said you wouldn’t. You lied. Father Almighty. Save me. You lied. I listened and you lied…” Castiel repeated the phrase again. Dean felt his eyes prickle and his breath hitch as he listened to the desperate babbling of a person who had been intentionally deceived. He felt his knees drop to the ground in front of Castiel before his mind comprehended that he was kneeling in front of the weeping angel. Castiel looked up at him, clear lines now tracking down his cheek between the grim. The angel’s face was mottled with red, the physical action of being tearful, taking toil. Castiel’s azure eyes were framed with thick lashes clumped together with moisture. He was blinking ferociously trying to clear his vision so that he could stare at Dean with disdain. “You lied!” Castiel spat, sadness dripping away into despairing anger. “I told you what my wings meant to me and you bound them regardless. You have committed a grave sin! The Lord will judge you in your falsehearted intentions!” 

The angel could not maintain the facade of anger for long as he bared his teeth in another broken sob. Castiel dropped his head to his chest, entire body trembling in grief at the loss of his wings. His freedom. 

Dean swallowed with difficulty against his dry throat. He didn’t know what to do with his now empty hands. He flexed them open and close, trying to alleviate some of the guilt riddling his heavy heart. Dean moved his face closer to Castiel speaking softly over the sound of the hushed crying, “I am sorry, angel. I had to.” Castiel let out a heart-wrenching wail that was followed by a series of short, quick gasps. The angel was hyperventilating. Dean had heard that sound many times coming from Sam’s tiny coiled body. Any time that Dean wasn’t there to shield Sam from the solid fists of their enraged father, he came home to find his bruised and terrified brother, hiding in their closet. Dean could remember the sound of the short uncontrollable gasps that came through Sam’s split lip as he dragged his brother into his embrace, whispering reassurances in his ear, to ward away the lingering fear. Now, here was Castiel making the same familiar sound of a person at the verge of complete panic. 

The absolute human action shook Dean out of his stupor. He surged forward and enveloped his arms around the angel’s shaking torso. Castiel flinched back expecting more pain but went still when he felt the warm limbs circle is naked body. Dean felt and heard the angel’s wretched breathing, as he pressed his cheek against Castiel’s neck. The angel’s crying had all but come to an abrupt stop, the obvious surprise at Dean’s action stopping the panic attack as it was starting. 

Dean held on steady not wanting to spook Castiel any further. The angel’s breathing slowed gradually until he was barely breathing at all. “Breathe, angel. That’s it. Slow and steady.” Castiel took two long deliberate breaths before sighing as Dean rubbed his fingers gently against the raw skin of his back. Dean wanted to pull back but it felt so good to hold another body against his. It was nothing sexual or perverse. It was simply a urge, for an gesture that he had almost forgotten the feeling of. He felt Castiel relax cautiously, letting his tired form lean into Dean’s. Dean’s breathing started to match Castiel’s own. Their bodies moving in tandem as their chest conversely moved up and down against one another. It felt warm and fluid. Dean couldn’t describe the fulfilling heat that was spreading through his body. His eyes fluttered shut enjoying this position for as long as he was able.

“I know,” Castiel whispered shocking Dean in the frigid silence. The angel moved his head minutely, rubbing his jaw against Dean’s face. “I know why you did it.” Dean shifted his own head, resting his chin on the angel’s trapezius. 

“I had to, Castiel. It was nothing personal,” he answered back. He didn’t know why he was justifying himself but it seemed like the thing to do considered what had happened. 

Castiel was more deliberate in his touch now, his cheek smoothing along Dean’s temple. Dean was so surprised he almost moved his head away from the touch. The angel was touching him! Voluntarily. After what he had done Dean was sure that he would feel a more obvious hatred from the angel. But this was unthinkable. The earlier fluttering of lust and want rippled back to the surface. 

“It was personal. But it was not for you,” Castiel stated with understanding. Dean moved his head back at this, looking as the side of the angel’s face in confusion. “It was for love.”

“Love?” Dean asked derisively. “With whom?” 

“The man who bought me here. You love him. Or loved him. That is why you did this.” Castiel looked over his shoulders at his clipped wings. “He needed this from you and you did it out of love. I understand.” Dean listened with barely concealed disbelief. The angel had to have heard something… or he was just incredibly perceptive. Dean had never admitted to anyone that he had once harbored feelings for the surly hunter. Feelings that, from what he knew were never reciprocated. “You might have committed a sin against heaven but you did it for the purest of intentions.”

“I had no intentions. No… I never loved… What are you…Benny and I…never,” Dean babbled. “I’m doing this to repay a debt. That’s all. I owe Benny, for more times that I can even remember. This is my way of getting even.”

Castiel looked Dean with a look akin to pity. “You are severely misguided, Dean,” He said softly. Their faces were very close and for the second time that day Dean felt the similar urge to close the gap. Castiel looked like he was in definite pain, hands strained against the chains and wings twitching in discomfort but his face looked serene. “I did not understand before and I foolishly tried to ignore the notion once I did. You are merely being guided by your own impression of what is right.” Dean considered his words and wanted to feel insulted by them but instead found himself questioning.   
Why was he doing this? Was it really because he felt like he owed Benny? “Dean, love is the reason why you are doing this to me. And for that…” the next words come out of Castiel’s mouth with difficulty. “I forgive you.” Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. It sounded like a benediction of some sort. He was about to reply fervently when soft chapped lips pressed against him own. 

Dean’s words stuck in his throat as the warm chaste kiss made his skin feel like liquid. For a second he felt like he was falling. A feeling akin to numbness with the edge of thrill. The smell of sweet, tart apple with a floral undertone filled his nostrils, making him lightheaded. He pressed back not wanting this feeling to ever end. 

Castiel pulled back ,almost as suddenly as he had started the kiss. They shared a look of disbelief and confusion before the angel’s lips curled slightly in a careful smile. Dean stared down at the red lips, wanting to pull Castiel close again and wretch those perfect pieces of flesh with his own. But a thought occurred to him. “Was that your first kiss?” he asked teasingly, running his thumb along Castiel’s bottom lip.

The angel pulled back and bit the lip, looking at Dean through his lashes. That was a clear answer to the question and it made Dean giddy with pleasure. Castiel cleared his throat purposefully and lifted his chin, meeting Dean’s gaze directly. “I forgive you,” Castiel repeated again, this time with conviction. “Do what you need to do to help the one you love, Dean. I will not hold it against you.” Dean felt like he was loosing himself in the shiny sapphire eyes, boring into him. “Just promise me that you will release me after you have finished with me? I must return to my brethren. They need me to fulfill my duty,” he said, voice stiff with emotion. 

Dean felt conflicted. It seemed like such as reasonable request. He wanted nothing more than to accept but he knew that what he needed from Castiel was to remain a life-long slave to another master. That was the deal. Dean broke and trained the wild angel into a pliant puppet for the use of the highest bidder. Now that he thought about it, he felt sick. Dean schooled his face trying to stop the doubt show in his features. 

Just as strongly, the voice of Benny, desperate and fearful cut through his doubtful sentiment. Benny was in danger. Mortal danger. And he needed this sale to happen in order to protect his life. They weren’t talking hundreds or thousands of dollars. Wildly caught and trained angel went for millions of dollars. Nothing the angel said could be more important than this sum that could be traded for Benny’s life. If saving his friend meant quelling his franking ridiculous sympathies toward Castiel, he would. 

Dean let an apologetic smile shape his face and wiped a tear that escaped the angel’s red eyes. “No, angel,” he said consolingly. “I cannot make such a promise.” Castiel looked at him in disappointment. It didn’t seem like the answer shocked him. He leaned into the touch closing his eyes as Dean caressed his cheek. 

“Dean…” Castiel started but Dean interrupted when he realized something important. 

“How do you know my name?” he demanded, pulling his hand away from the angel’s face. “I have never told you. Where did you hear it, huh?” Dean moved to pull the angel blade from his belt, when Castiel spoke.

“I have always known, Dean,” Castiel replied warily as Dean wrapped his hand around the handle of the silver blade. “Your mother used to regularly pray for the both of you when you were children.” Castiel didn’t look like he was lying but rather divulging a fact that he thought was obviously known. “Sam still prays for you Dean, though infrequently. Jessica has started including your name when she says thanks nightly.” Dean’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. While Dean didn’t subscribe to the concept of religion, he knew that Sam and Jessica were Sunday churchgoers and more than semi-devout. “Bobby sometimes speaks your name in his thoughts to heaven also,” Castiel continued. “Anyone who loves you can pray for you, Dean.” 

“I see,” Dean said lifting his hand away from the blade to rest on the angel’s shoulder. That made sense. Castiel’s shoulders were stiff with pain from the clipping. Dean let his hand trail down to the cold metal enclosing the muscular appendage. It felt rigid and tight. “I am sorry, angel,” he murmured as he rubbed gently at the pinched flesh along the length of the binding. “This had to be done.” Castiel’s earlier uncontrollable sobbing was crushing and even if he knew that he did what needed to be done, it still felt heavy. “In return, for lying to you, I will give you a reward.” Dean moved his hands up to unclasp the angel’s shackles from the chains. 

Castiel looked incredibly hopeful. ”Will you allow me to contact my kin?” He asked uncertain. The skin around his wrist was red and raw from the chaffing around the magic suppressing metal. The angel had pulled so hard against the bindings that the metal from the cuffs had dug deeply into the skin of Castiel’s hand. The wounds bled sluggishly when Dean examined them. 

“I have another reward for you, Castiel,” he replied. “One that you want but don’t have the self-preservation to ask for.” Dean couldn’t begrudge the angel in wanted only what he deemed important to his mission but really? Why didn’t he ever ask for things that could make him feel better? Fucking soldiers of Heaven. Dean dragged a confused Castiel across the room to the door of the training unit. He knew exactly what he wanted to give the angel. It didn’t seem overly safe but it seemed like the best thing to offer. 

Castiel ’s wings dragged behind them both as Dean tightened his grip around the angel’s forearm and pulled him towards the basement stairs. “I will give you what you deserve, angel,” he said as he pulled the angel. He marched the angel up the stairs, large wings rubbing against the wall as their went. “You wait and see, Castiel. You will love it.” Castiel looked skeptical but followed wordlessly behind Dean as he led them both into the dark coolness of the master bedroom.


	10. Surprising Suds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, désolé, paenitet! I know, this chapter took forever to upload. Work and study will be the bane of me! As an apology please accept this monster of a chapter. I hope you all are well. Enjoy! =)

Dean let his tight grip on the forearm slide down to clasp at Castiel’s hand, which was now trembling. They were not clammy but were cold. Too cold. He squeezed his fingers around the angel’s digits letting the warmth of his palm seep into him. The fact that Castiel was following him without question was definitely something that baffled him. Considering how he had acting toward the angel, he didn’t expect to be touching him for at least a few days, if ever. The angel’s willingness and trust in him was both endearing and disheartening.

“Just through here, angel,” he murmured, pulling Castiel into the bedroom. They proceeded to the wooden slide door at the far wall of the spacious room. Dean released the angel’s hand, turning around to meet the angel’s gaze. Castiel looked hesitant but remained still as Dean came closer. Dean ran his fingers down Castiel’s cheek, feeling the wetness still there. “You will like this, I’m sure of it.” Castiel lowered his head, eyes downcast as Dean dragged him into the cold confines of the bathroom.

Automated lights filled the room with yellow heated light, warming the tiled floor. Dean wouldn’t say that the bathroom was incredibly big, but it was lavish. One of the other luxuries John Winchester had not skimped on was a good shower. Dean could count on this hand, the number of times his father allowed him or Sam to use this ensuite. He was usually not allowed to soak in the spa-sized, ultra-deep Jacuzzi (basically a mini-pool) or even wet himself with a shower head that not only had amazing pressure but felt like rain. No, John had always kept this area to himself, spending hours after a hunt, unwinding and celebrating his captures. Dean had begrudged him in the past but he now understood the need to have a precious area accessible only to you, where you can truly relax and indulge in solitude. For him, that place was his Impala.

Dean tried not to think about how convenient it was that Castiel was already naked. He was relieved as he made his way to the bathtub. Dean didn’t want to have the awkward situation of asking the angel to take his cloths off. By now, Castiel had wrapped the ends of his wings around his bare body. While the bands restricted most of the movement in the wings, it still allowed the forewings a degree of freedom. This allowed him to move the wings in the direction it was needed, for protection and warmth but did not allow for flying or attacking. Dean sat himself down on the edge of the bathtub, which stretched only a foot above the floor. The bath, which was mostly below the level of the ground, was deep enough to completely submerge a sitting person. He glanced over his shoulder and almost slipped off the tub. He hadn’t directed or physically moved Castiel closer so he was pleasantly surprised to see that the angel had followed him, albeit a couple of feet behind. 

Smiling, he reached down and lifted up the handle, watching as water cascaded into the porcelain tub from three separate holes along the rim. Dean twisted the knob beside the tap a few times until the temperature of the water was just right. He looked back at Castiel who was standing a few feet away, examining his feathers. His face displayed the pain that he was feeling as he tugged his wings closer to himself, trying to comb out the ruffles with his fingers. The action seemed almost absentminded but Dean could imagine the discomfort it was causing. It was obviously putting a strain on the bindings.

He got up and tugged Castiel closer by the wrist, effectively pulling the angel’s hand away from his abused wings. “Leave them, Castiel,” he chided gently. Castiel looked disgruntled, but allowed himself to be pulled nearer, until he was standing in the V of Dean’s legs. Dean could smell dirt and blood under the almost overwhelming scent of grace. Now that the angel’s wings were open, the grace oil was saturating the air with its thick fragrance, making Dean’s eyes water. You know what they say about too much of a good thing, he thought as the smell was starting to make him giddy.

Castiel’s hip was now in line with Dean’s face and he had the ridiculous urge to lean forward and lick the line of flesh that jutted out over the angel’s hipbones. He peeked down at Castiel’s soft, smooth penis and then hurriedly turned back to the tub, sticking his hand into the water. He ran his hand back and forth, feeling the gentle but hot splash of the water against his skin. The tub, despite being as deep as it was, filled surprisingly quickly, water rising halfway in a couple of minutes. He had purposefully made the water a touch on the hot side to sooth any of the angel’s aching muscles. Dean hadn’t needed to do that. He didn’t need to be this considerate. If anything, he would be strongly advised against pampering his training charge but…his gut told him that he needed to make it up to Castiel for what he had done.

“I don’t normally do this, angel. But I think you might really like it,” he said. Dean watched as the water filled up to an appropriate level and then lowered the handle to stop the flow. He eyed the line of multicolored bath oils and shower gels along the rim of the tub, against the wall. He reached across, feeling the steam rising from the water and grabbed a bright pink and yellow bottle. Dean flicked open the lid with his thumb and smiled as the scent of strawberries and passion fruit wafted up to his nose. He upended the bottle over the bath, giving it a mighty squeeze. A silvery pink hued gel dropped into the awaiting water in a steady stream. “That should do it,” Dean said triumphantly, flipping the lid closed and placing it back in the rim. “We just need to give it a few minutes to spread but this one smells incredible.”

He stood up and turned forgetting for a second that Castiel was standing directly behind him. His face was so close that his breath moved a few stands of hair on the angel’s head. Castiel had his head lowered, looking at the bath with curiosity. He hadn’t seemed to notice that Dean was standing so close. The room went silent save for Dean’s louder-than-necessary breathing and the occasional slap of water against the side of the tub. Dean looked down at Castiel, handing moved carefully to rest on his arm. The angel jerked his arm automatically before trying to relax under Dean’s grip. Sensing the angel’s discomfort, Dean telegraphed his next move clearly as he moved his had up the angel’s shoulder towards his back. Castiel was shaking slightly as Dean inched his fingers closer to the joint where metal encapsulated his limb. Dean cleared his throat, pausing his hand to say, “I just need to check that it isn’t bleeding or cutting into your circulation. Can I do that, angel?” Castiel looked pained but nodded gruffly as Dean moved his fingered down the line of flesh that still looked angry and red, beside the metal. “Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked when the angel gasped and twitched against his touch. Castiel stayed quite for a few moments considering the answer.

“Not as much as when you…” he trailed off saying what he was going to say without speaking. Not as much as when you tied me down and forcefully bound my wings, Dean heard. “No,” the angel concluded, although Dean knew he was lying. Dean nodded anyway, walked behind him and ran his hand along to the other joint, mechanically checking for unnecessarily harsh abrasions or discomfort. The clipping bands were of the highest quality and were made to cause minimum damage. Trainers wouldn’t want to needlessly ruin their property when they had intentions of selling them.

Dean stepped back when he was satisfied and asked in a quite voice, “Move your wings back for me, Castiel. Please?” he added as an afterthought. Castiel hesitated for a long minute. Dean opened his mouth to repeat the request when the angel slowly pushed his feathered appendages back, uncovering his naked body. “Thank you, angel.” Dean stepped closer to touch his feathers but Castiel moved forward hurriedly, away from Dean’s advancing hand. He sighed. Of course, the angel didn’t want him to be touching his wings. Dean knew he would have to do it sooner or later but for now he decided to concede. “I know you have no reason to believe this, Castiel. But I will not hurt you. Not now. This is your reward.” The angel turned to look at his, effectively placing himself in front of his wings, shielding them from Dean with his slim form. His gaze was disbelieving, which Dean admitted was understandable. He lifted his hands in a universe, I-mean-you-no-harm gesture and said “Umm, okay. Can you maybe fold your wings in? I don’t think all of you will fit in the tub.”

Castiel looked down at the steaming water and then back at Dean. He looked almost embarrassed when he said, “It hurts to move them.” Dean sucked in a breath. It must have been hard for the angel to admit a weakness like this.

“Its probably because of the binding magic in the bands,” he explained. “The pain will wear off soon, I promise.” Dean blinked in surprise at the words. Why was he promising this? If his father heard him saying something this sympathetic to an angel, he would have strung him up. God, he was turning so soft. Before long, he will be bringing the angel cupcakes and kissing his sores away, Freaking hell!

“Do you want me to get in that?” Castiel asked dubiously, bringing Dean out of his inner berating. Dean followed his eye line and saw that the angel was struggling with the concept of a bath.

“Yes,” he answered confused. “You need to get in the tub to have a bath.”

“Why?” Castiel asked as he moved closer, carefully touching the surface of the water. The liquid rippled out as the angel watched it, fascinated. “It is hot.”

“No, its warm and what do you mean by why?” Dean questioned back, slightly annoyed. “It’s a bath. You use it to get clean.” But Dean was soon fighting a smile as the angel dropped his hand further into the water, gasping and pulled it back. “Okay, so it’s a little hot but it won’t burn you. It will help, trust me.” Dean looked back at the angel’s wings. If they hurt to move, maybe they could skip washing them this time, he thought. You could also just wash the feathers separately after you plucked them, his mind added helpfully. Dean felt a stab of guilt as he thought of hurting the angel again so soon. It could definitely wait.

“Look Castiel, just get in the water, we can try and avoid getting your wings wet today.” Dean moved behind the angel. Castiel was already bent at the waist with his hand in the water so Dean laid his hand gently on the angel’s hips and pushed him forward. “You see the steps right there, yes, right there. Just put your foot on it. That’s right. Good job.” Dean directed Castiel until he had climbed over the rim of the tub and was standing in torso high water. He felt like giggling at the sight of the angel’s face. Castiel looked grumpy and intrigued at the same time.

“It’s burning me.” He stated simply and stood with his back toward Dean, ramrod straight. His wings were draped over the side of the tub, the metal bands, fogging up with steam. Only a few low hanging feather were getting wet and Dean didn’t think the angel minded all that much.

“No, its not,” Dean huffed. He turned the cold water regardless, letting it flow into the tub for a few seconds before turning it off. “There. You will be fine, angel. Just sit on the step and relax.” Dean turned away, looking for a washcloth and shower gel. He heard the water splash softly and knew the angel had taken his advice. He located a soft blue washcloth and hypoallergenic soap. He didn’t suspect Castiel would be allergic to anything but it was the most sensitive soap he owned, making it the best choice for his cut and bruised flesh.

Dean watched as Castiel sat evenly on the second highest step, the water reaching up to his chest. Dean took a second to just drink in the unusual sight of the massive wings hanging over the side of his father huge bathtub. A dark haired head between the feathered limbs looked small and delicate in comparison. The angel in question was sitting worryingly still; like he thought moving the water would get him in trouble. His hands were wrapped around his center, breathing slowly as the steam rose up and made his cheeks flush pink. “Relax, Castiel. Lean back. Enjoy it,” Dean prompted coming closer with the washcloth.

Castiel gradually loosened his hold on himself and allowed his arms to float up and out of the water. He moved his arm back down and smiled as they floated back up again. Dean wanted to giggle at the angel’s childish fascination. He moved forward and held out the washcloth. Castiel looked up shock and then stared at the material, cocking his head. “What is that?” he asked.

“A washcloth,” Dean supplied helpfully. Castiel continued to look at it in confusion. The angel was about to reach for it when Dean pulled in back. “Actually, let me do it,” he said. “You probably wouldn’t even scrub right.” Dean didn’t want to admit to himself that he taking advantage of the angel’s distinct lack of knowledge on the topic. He instead busied himself by lowering the soap-covered cloth down on Castiel’s exposed shoulder. The angel froze at the feeling but then melted against the tub as Dean rubbed firmly against his tense muscles. Dean kept a swift rhythm, rubbing gently around sores and cuts. Each swipe of the Castiel’s shoulder released a layer of grim and started to uncover the pink, smooth skin below. Dean allowed himself a few moments of gentle pressure against the angel’s neck, rubbing until he noticed that his charge was starting to breath deeply and tilted his head back. “Like it, angel?” he asked, softly.

“It feels… good,” the angel breathed. Dean chuckled under his breath and smiled. He dipped the washcloth into the water, squeezed out some brown-red muck and rubbed some more soap into the cloth. This time Dean smoothed the cloth over the angel’s chest, reaching over his shoulder. By now he was kneeling beside the tub, on the uncomfortably tiled floor, cuffs pushed up and hands covered in a white layer of soap. He enjoyed pulling the cloth and occasionally his fingers over the angel’s flushed flesh. It felt exactly how he imagined it would. Dean enjoyed the feel of tight muscle under a thin layer of material. Castiel gasped when he ran a finger gently over one his nipples. He shuddered when Dean smiled and repeated the motion, suppressing a grin as they started to pebble under his hand.

“Dean…” Castiel started voice shaky and Dean moved the cloth down hastily. He gently rubbed at the angel’s midsection, under the water. Castiel was sitting up a little straighter now shoulders hunched. His breath was steady but Dean could almost hear the static tension in the air. Dean groaned inwardly, feeling guilty. He hadn’t ruined everything had he? It was almost good for a moment there. Dean focused on rubbing the grime that he imagined was coated over the muscles of Castiel’s abdomen. Even if he couldn’t see the body, Dean moved the cloth back and forth simply enjoying the rhythm of the action. His eyes slipped closed, his chin dropping leisurely onto Castiel’s shoulder, his left hand bracing the side of the tub. His chin was getting wet and Castiel’s thick black hair tickled at his cheek. He slowly worked down; over his navel and trying the reach around the angel’s slim waist. The smell of the scented water was powerful and oddly made his mouth water. He turned his head and pressed his nose into the place below the angel’s ear, beside his chiseled jaw. He smelt amazing! Before he noticed his arm was so deep that his rolled sleeve was drenched. He rounded the fantastic hipbones, pressing at the juncture with a feeling akin to greed. Castiel’s was here. In his arms. He felt so amazing. So smooth and sexy. Dean’s cock twitch in interest, filling in at its own volition. Only a little further down… His fingers could closer over the slim beautiful flesh there. So easy. So beautiful. Dean’s fingers grazed over tiny wisps of hair-

“Dean,” the angel started again and Dean almost slipped into the water in surprise. “Allow me.” He felt a smaller, fragile hand cover his own. “I think I know the technique now.”

Dean felt his face heat and he released the cloth into Castiel’s grasp. For a second he thought the angel was mocking his astonishingly embarrassing lack of control but the angel calmly continued the task on his own. After a few swipes against his groin he leaned away so he could turn his head to look at Dean’s face for approval. Dean would never admit to anyone, that his stomach flipped so hard, he felt a trill of pleasure go up his spine. When his eyes met Castiel’s, Dean stifled the urge to grab the wet, stubbled chin and smash their lips together. The angel’s eyes were so earnest and innocent. Dean looked at his pink, damp face and bit his lip. Oh god, he was beautiful.

Dean cleared his throat loudly and looked away. “Good work, angel. Just keep that up and you will be clean in no time.” He stood up and pretended not to stumble on his unsteady legs. “I will just get a couple of towels. And um, cloths. Maybe…” Dean hadn’t decided if he wanted to clothe Castiel after the impromptu wash. Maybe he should. The angel had already been through enough today. Or maybe not... He liked the idea of having complete and unadulterated access to Castiel’s body whenever he needed it. Gah. Okay, maybe just boxers and a tee. Something that could be taken off easily. Or cut off. So maybe not a particularly precious tee. Maybe one of his dad’s? But the thought of clothing the angel in something his late father wore, made Dean feel uneasy. Ok, maybe he should just keep him nude. It seemed easier... God! The mixed aroma of the bath oil and grace was making him feel cloudy and unsteady. He couldn’t string together a line of thought.

Through this entire internal struggle, Castiel simply continued to wash himself. He alternated the cloth in each hand, scrubbing away at the disturbing amount of blood that stained his upper arms. Castiel glanced up once, probably to wonder why Dean was standing there staring at the tiled wall in concentration. His face changing occasionally as his mind was being made and then unmade. Dean made his way toward to bathroom door still contemplating, when he looked back at the angel and another thought occurred to him.

He couldn’t leave Castiel alone in the bathroom. All his fighter instincts were buzzing warningly. Hours of training, years of experience and some purely awful stories, he had heard from other trainers, resurfaced in his mind. No, he couldn’t be this neglectful. Shaking his head, he walked back to the angel, pulling out a pair of cable-ties from his jacket pocket. No self-respecting trainer went anywhere without them. Granted, if the angel was at full-strength, without any form of magic-suppression, they could probably snap the thin plastic cord as easily as if it were a blade of glass. Luckily, Castiel was significantly weak under the heavy magiked shackles and the ordeal of having his wings bound. Dean didn’t expect much fight from him tonight.

Castiel turned slowly when Dean approached, moving to stand at center of the tub. He had accidently pulled his massive feathered appendages over the side and the lower halves of the wings were now submerged in the bubbly water, glistening and simmering in the low light of the bathroom. Dean calmly dropped to one knee beside the tub and held out his left hand. Castiel eyed the hand in confusion and looked at the black plastic strips in Dean’s other hand. He head cocked to one side but realization must have come quickly. He lifted one foamed hand and offered it to Dean. Dean wordlessly took the hand and pulled it over to the tap. There were no conveniently hung chains or hooks in the bathroom so he decided to make do. The quality of the plumbing as far as Dean could tell, would ensure that Castiel would not be able to pull the tap out of its place at the state he was in. Dean threaded the cable around the tap and then over the angel’s wrist, trying not to pull to tight and further irritate the delicate flesh that was already rubbed raw by the shackles. He would need to hunt down some Aloe Vera or something for that later, he thought.

Castiel watched as he secured the temporary fastening and straightened up again. “Okay, well I will leave you to it,” Dean said, as Castiel nonchalantly picked up the washcloth and started running it over the wing within his reach. “Make sure to wash your hair too,” he added and left, hastily moving into the bedroom.

The coolness of the room, with no natural light or heating helped dull the heat that was pulsing on Dean’s face and between his legs. He left the bathroom door open but moved to the closet at the side of the room, away from clear sight of the angel. Dean breathed deeply a couple of times reveling in the sharp dusty air of the barely used bedroom. His head was gradually starting to clear. It felt like he was coming down from dizzying high. He really needed to be more carefully. One more minute in the grace-infused haze and he would have jerked the angel off, right in that very bathtub. Who know if he wouldn’t ended there? It wouldn’t have taken much effort to secure the other hand as well and bend him over the side of the tub. Dean shook his head again, hard. Focus, Dean! He chided himself. He pushed himself to the task at hand trying to will away the image of soft pink skin, damp and slippery under his hands.

Dean pulled open a few drawers in search of appropriate clothes for his angelic captive. Rows upon rows of shirts and pant but Dean struggled to find simple tee shirts. He had decided against using his own clothes. He had only bought over a few clean pairs and there was no telling how long he had before he could make another pit stop at his apartment. As he had anticipated; his father’s collection of clothes were limited. He only ever remembered him dressing sharply in the same leather jacket and solid army boots. All clean edges and durable material; clothes suited for a trainer. Dean finally found a pair of boxers he knew could not have been his dad’s, judging by the Spiderman icons along it. Maybe they were Sam’s from years ago and just had gotten miss sorted during laundry. Towels were stacked in neat bundles in a wicket basket in one of the shelves. All set. He picked up the towels, boxers and a small tube of Aloe Vera he found and walked back into the bathroom.

Dean didn’t know what he expected to see. The sight that greeted him made him want to either coo in adoration or jerk himself off in a hurried manner. Castiel was standing at the center of the bathtub eyes transfixed on a small yellow object bobbing effortlessly in the water. Dean watched as Castiel lifted his unimpeded hand hesitantly and poked at the rubber duck, sending it carousing to the side of the tub. Dean barked out a laugh, scaring the angel so badly, he splashed water out of the tub, only merely missing Dean. “Ahahaha. Sorry,” Dean laughed. “Where the hell did you get that?” Why would his father have kept a rubber duck in his bathtub? He couldn’t exactly picture his dad, a fully-grown man, sitting in the water playing with the toy. After expelling that truly odd image from his mind, Dean’s forehead furrowed and he bent closer to the yellow object. No, it couldn’t be. He had owned one of these when he was a little boy. Sam used to love. Surely his dad hadn’t kept it all these years?

“Um,” Castiel started. “It was behind of the bottle there.” He gestured at a few toppled bottles of shampoos and bath oils. Sure enough, a small sailboat, a tiny Batman figurine and a pair of toddler goggles were partially hidden from view. Dean stared at the items in shock as Castiel said. “I just wanted to examine the yellow floatation device. I did not mean to be obtrusive.” The angel sounded remorseful and slightly wary. “I apologize.” Castiel wrapped his unbound hand around his torso protectively, eyes trained on Dean for any sudden movements. Dean let out a puff of air he hadn’t known he was holding. He could deal with his unresolved daddy issues later. So what if the man he feared and mostly hated kept toys from their childhood? It doesn’t change how he was as a man and it doesn’t mean anything. It didn’t and never will make up for the years of pain and failure he and his brother felt.

Dean reached down to lay a hand over Castiel’s moist cheek. To the angel’s credit, he only twitched slightly. Dean rubbed his thumb over Castiel’s cheekbones and ran the tip gently through his lower eyelashes. Dean wanted to lean down a kiss the worry out of Castiel’s brow He felt disheartened that Castiel thought he would hurt him for playing with a fucking rubber duck. He wasn’t an animal! Considered what Dean had done to the angel not too long ago, he understood why he would be frightful, but still… the look on the Castiel’s pale face made Dean’s insides turn. This was the look he remembered seeing on Sam’s face the mornings after their father had gone into a drunken rage. The walking on eggshells and peeking past corners was a sad reality Dean was familiar with. The sense of impending doom and fear of saying the wrong thing in the wrong way was a heavy burden to place on small mother-less children. It was a fiercely uneasy thought to think that he was evoking this sort of fear out of the angel.

“Um… angel,” Dean began, his throat dry. “Its alright.” He reached into the tub and grabbed the yellow rubber bobbing gently in the bubbles. It felt worn, orange beak bent slightly under the rough use of an excited 4 year old. He couldn’t remember playing with it himself but he knew that he used to before his mother had passed. After that, Dean had stopped taking bubble baths, opting instead to run a quick shower where he could quickly scrub and be out before Sammy knew he was gone. Dean couldn’t remember where most of his stuff went. He hadn’t thought his father had saved it. It was garbage anyway. What was the use of remembering a childhood that left deep scars in the place of cherished memories? Dean held out the toy to Castiel stiffly, grumbling, “Take it. It’s a rubber duck.”

Castiel eyed the duck cautiously in Dean hand a few moments before carefully unfurling his arm and taking it. He lifted it up and down with palm, as if testing its weight. He then gently lowered his hand into the water letting it sink down far enough for the rubber to become buoyant. “A rubber duck,” he repeated. The angel huffed a laugh and said, “its name is quite descriptive.” Looking up at Dean, an uncertain smile was spreading across his face. “It’s a very nice rubber duck. What is its purpose?”

Dean had the inkling that Castiel had seen the emotions that had crossed his face at the sight of the toys and was trying to comfort him somehow. It was a weirdly endearing thought. His resulting smile was only a little forced. “It’s a toy. Children play with it in the bath. It, um, keeps them occupied while their parents wash them, you know?” He guessed that’s what the purpose was. He didn’t actually know. How many other human small items did he own that had no real purpose at all? Small trivial things that had no meaning or context to an angel? It was a truly odd thought.

“But I am not a child,” Castiel stated, confused. Dean shakes his head, amusement padding the throb that started whenever he thought of his father.

“No, you are not, Castiel,” he replied. Dean fished the toy out of the soapy water and placed it on the rim beside the other mementos. “Now lean back, we need to wash that disgusting mop of yours.” Castiel looked puzzled again but allowed Dean to pull him back to the edge of the bathtub by his shoulder. One of Castiel’s hands was still secured to the tap at the side of the tub, fingers now curled reflexively around the neck of the metal. He was maneuvered until his back was toward Dean again, sitting on the lowest step, wings getting wet and foamy. Dean then placed his right hand on the angel’s forehead and pressed his head back until the back of Castiel’s dark hair was submerged in the warm water. The angel let out a deep sigh as the liquid spread between the hairs, wetting his scalp. Dean lowered his other hand under the water, cradling Castiel by the neck. The robust aroma of the tropical fruit mixed with Castiel’s own scent was invigorating. Dean cupped some water with his hand and poured it over the top of the angel’s head. This gesture felt strangely pious.

Dean breathed deeply, letting the fragranced steam from the bath lift like tendrils, wetting his flushed face. He watched the water trickle down Castiel’s temples and tenderly repeated the action until the dark tresses were soaked. Dean grabbed the bottle of his floral-scented shampoo and squeezed it directly onto the angel’s hair. He smoothed the gel in, enjoying the feel of the lather that was forming under his hands. The knots and clumps started to untangle in the slippery foam as his fingers laced through the locks. The floral scent was almost lost under the natural one that drifted from Castiel. Dean didn’t really understand why the angel smelt so damn good despite having spent most of the last few days chained and bleeding in a dark, concrete room. Angelic deodorant? Dean pondered serenely and then inevitably questioned his sanity. Yep, he was loosing his mind. That was for sure.

Castiel’s eyes were closed and his other had risen to slackly hold the side of the tub. Dean watched his tranquil face, matching the angel’s own slow breathing with his own. Castiel’s wings were angled in funny way. The pain at the binding had probably gone down because Castiel had folded in most of his wings into the tub, leaving only the top arches of both the wings peeking out the surface of the water. They looked like featured buoys beside his shoulders. It was bizarre seeing such enormous appendages squeezed into the foamy water but Dean hoped it was causing some sort of relief. He imagined there were strained muscles in the angel’s wings that could benefit from the heat. He couldn’t even conceive the amount of pain the binding would have caused to elicit such a response. And Dean knew that Castiel’s tear-stricken face and heart-wrenching scream would be a recurring thought in his dreams for several nights to come.

Dean shook his head and splaying one hand beside Castiel’s face, cupping his jaw gently, trying to console the guilty twinge in his chest. Castiel was here. In his hands. He wasn’t in pain anymore. He in lying in his bathtub completely pliant and trusting, more than Dean had ever thought was possible. Castiel’s cheeks were coloured pink and damp. Moisture clumped his lashes together, dark and long against his smooth skin. Dean swallowed at the sight of his lips, chapped and splayed open in relaxation. They were beautiful. Soft looking and rosy. They were so unlike anything Dean had ever desired before. They were not plumb or painted an outlandish glossy red. No. Castiel’s lips were small and delicate. They were not the lips of a busty angel or a curvy bartender. No. They were Castiel lips. And he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want them pressed against his own. Dean was leaning down before his mind caught up to his body.

When Dean’s lips touched Castiel’s, it felt like the air in the room was suddenly like thick honey, warm and languid. Castiel gasped into his mouth but offered no resistance when Dean deepened the kiss. The steam from the water had left Castiel’s skin smooth and moist making the kiss obscenely wet. Dean’s head was buzzing with want. He couldn’t understand if it was the lack of air or the feeling of a soft lip between tucked his teeth. He would have been worried that Castiel wasn’t kissing back if the angel didn’t then tilt his head back slightly and opening his mouth in a silent invitation. Dean immediately licked into it, tasting the angel. There were not words to describe the dizzying thrum of pleasure that filled him. The kiss was electric, both stinging and soothing at the same time. Dean had never felt anything like it. Castiel hummed shakily in reply to Dean’s embarrassingly loud moan.

Dean pulled away reluctantly after an age, letting much needed air fill his starved lungs. He held Castiel’s face gingerly between his hands, meeting his eyes with barely–contained desire. The angel’s pupils were blown, only a thin halo of blue visible in the white. The feeling of contentment and want came crashing down when Dean saw the wet that was trailing down from the corners of Castiel’s eyes. His heart jumped violently in his chest when the angel’s chin started to tremble and his lips pursed together, holding back a sob.

“Angel! What’s wrong?” he asked, horrified for a second that he had done something, terribly, horribly bad. “Are you in pain? Was it the kiss? I thought… I didn’t think… I’m so-“

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted him. His voice was rough with emotion but strong. For the first time since he had met the angel, Dean felt so small under the angel’s gaze. He saw the eons of experience and memories in Castiel’s eyes, misty with unshed tears. “Dean, please,” he begged quietly. Dean’s throat was dry and his breath was coming out in short painful puffs.

“What? Castiel tell me. What’s wrong?” Dean demanded wanting that panicky look of fear to disappear from the angel’s face.

“I do not like this feeling,” Castiel whispered. “I feel like my grace is being strangled under the weight of your soul.” Dean exhaled sharply. What? “My vessel’s heart is pounding so hard and lungs are not functioning. My wings feel like they are on fire.” Dean didn’t know what to say to that. This couldn’t be normal. All they had been doing was kissing. Truth be told, he had never felt anything like this either. He hadn’t heard his sort of admission from any other angel he had consorted with. Something had to be wrong.

Dean pulled his hands away carefully, guiding Castiel’s head to rest carefully on the side of the tub. He wiped his wet hands on his jeans and stood abruptly. He needed to get a hold of himself. It was unfair of him to have made a move on Castiel when he was still vulnerable from getting his wings bound. And this was supposed to be his reward for fuck’s sake! The sudden loss of the euphoric feeling and Castiel’s comments had ripped a hole in his pleased mood. He instead felt a strange mixture of shame and confusion. Dean grabbed the scissors in the vanity cabinet and reached over Castiel to hold his bound hand. The angel watched warily as Dean slipped the scissors into the cord and cut it efficiently. The black plastic slipped off the angel’s wrist and onto the tiled floor.

“Tip your head into the water, Castiel,” Dean directed when he straightened. He took a couple of steps back, placing the scissors back in the cabinet. He was a safe enough distance to sooth the angel’s troubled fears, he hoped. “Just wash the soap out of your hair and you can get out. Use your hands.” Castiel turned his head to look at Dean watchfully; eyes still damp, before doing as he is told. He dropped his head forward into the water, completely submerging himself. The white suds of shampoo and soap were flowing off of his glistening body and hair. Dean tried not to stare as the angel ran his long thin fingers through the black strands. He dunked himself a couple more times before Dean affirmed that he was clean. Castiel stood shakily and walked up the steps, swaying as Dean reached for the towel. “Steady there, Castiel?” he asked.

“I am alright,” the angel replied and accepted the offered towel. He awkwardly wrapped the towel around his waist, holding it closed with his fisted hand. Dean looked at the water still dripping down the angel’s wet body and hair, settling on the puddle that was now forming on the floor. Water rolled off the dark folded wings, like drops off like a bird’s. Dean grabbed another smaller towel from a hook and held it out to Castiel. The angel took the towel readily with his free hand and then when he realized he didn’t have a place to hold it, Dean took pity on him.

Dean lifted the towel, with Castiel hand holding it, to rub down the angel’s wet shoulder. “You need to dry off, angel,” he directed and repeated the action on Castiel’s other shoulder. The angel, always a quick study, ran the towel over his chest next, removing the droplets off of his skin. Dean released his hold, satisfied that Castiel could continue on his own. He walked around the angel and drained the water in the tub. It was a filthy, murky colour and it made Dean thankful that he had decided to do this. Castiel in comparison was radiantly white under a thin layer of bruises. His hair was silky and fell in haphazard clusters when Castiel rubbed the towel over it clumsily with one hand.

Dean came back to stand in front of the angel and asked, “Want me to fasten that towel around your waist, Castiel? So you can have both your hands free?” Castiel hesitantly nodded, relinquishing his vice hold on the towel to Dean. Dean made quick work of wrapping the towel carefully around the angel’s slim waist, tucking the fold back in on itself so it held tightly, while avoiding touching exposed skin and feathers. Castiel moved both his hands back onto the towel on his head, trying to wring moisture out of his strands. Dean smirked slightly and placed his hands next to the angel’s. He swiftly wiped the material back and forth. Castiel moved his hands away, allowing Dean to work on his wet hair. When it was half-decent Dean pulled the damp towel away from his head and draped it back on the hook. He almost reached to take Castiel hand to guide him back into the bedroom but thought better of it.

“Follow me, Castiel.” With that Dean grabbed the remaining cloths, lotion, turned to walk back into the bedroom. Thankfully Castiel followed without question. In the cool and dark room, Dean felt less on edge. He opted against opening the blinds but instead turned on the bedside lamp. Soft, warm light filled the space. Dean sat down the bed, dropping the stuff he had been carrying on the small table. He looked up at Castiel standing uneasily at the center of the room, hands and wings hanging awkwardly. Dean smiled and pat the bed beside him, invitingly. “Come here, angel. Sit. I need to see your wrists.”

Castiel looked highly suspicious but followed Dean’s command. He slowly moved forward and sat gingerly in the spot Dean had indicated. The angel’s body was tense, angled so that he could jump out of Dean’s grasp if the need arose. Dean’s heart thudding loud at the thought. For all his bravado and comments about bending the angel to his will, the idea of forcing himself on Castiel was distressing. The logical part of his brain told him that he didn’t really need consent from a creature he had enslaved but the notion that his advanced were not reciprocated, stung. Dean wordlessly held out his hand for Castiel’s.

The angel watched Dean hesitantly before lifting his hand into Dean’s hold. Dean carefully examined the chaffed and blistered skin around the magic suppression shackles. They were not fastened tightly but Castiel had pulled on them fiercely when Dean had bound his wings, leaving deep cuts at the base of each hand. Luckily, they were not bleeding and Dean could see that the skin was already starting to move closer and knit together. The wrist was obviously causing the angel discomfort. Castiel winced when Dean ran a thumb over his pulse point, touching the raw flesh. The angel’s heartbeat was racing.

Dean placed the wrist gently on his lap and grabbed the bottle of Aloe Vera. He squeezed a sizeable portion into his palm and dropped the container back onto the table. Dropping one finger into the gel, Dean smoothed the clear, mild-smelling lotion over the wounds, starting from the cut and work down. Castiel gasped when coolness touched the angry skin. He looked up at Dean in awe and then skirted his eyes back shyly down when the man smiled at him. Dean had to slip a finger beneath the silver metal of the shackles to rub the Aloe into the chaffed skin under them. The tension in the angel’s body bled away as Dean worked. He could not offer Castiel any pain medication or extensive medical help, but this he could do gladly. Dean wanted to do the little he could to make up for all his transgressions, as unavoidable as they were.

Once he was done with one wrist, Dean tenderly picked up the other one, placing it on his jeans. Castiel sighed in palpable relief as Dean treated the second hand. Steeling glances at the angel as he worked, Dean saw that the fear and trepidation had been replaced with fatigue. Castiel was exhausted. He cleared his throat softly before saying, “Feeling a little wiped out, angel?”

Castiel met his eyes momentarily before looked back down at Dean’s work. “I am fine,” was his terse response. Dean huffed a humorless laugh. The angel really was a tough solider. He refused to show weakness as long as it could be helped. It was admirable if not stupid.

Dean looked sheepish as he continued to rub the aloe vera gently into Castiel’s wrist. “Um,” he started unintelligently. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. I wasn’t supposed to do that. The bath was meant to be your reward.” Dean rubbed the remaining lotion down Castiel’s forearms, until he cupped both the angel’s hands in his own. Castiel trained his eyes down, not meeting Dean’s apologetic gaze. “It was kind of a dick move. So, I get why you got scared.” Castiel nodded calmly, proving that he was listening. “I promise I won’t do that again when I am rewarding you. That was not fair and… yeah.” Dean felt like a complete moron. He felt like he was talking to a child. It should feel incredibly degrading to be apologizing to Castiel like this but it didn’t even feel wrong. Even if the kiss had been one of the most pleasurable moments of his life (with his cloths on) he couldn’t attempt something like that again on his conscience.

Castiel finally looked up, eyes uncertain. “Its okay, Dean,” he assured. “I am not angry at you.” He pulled his wrists carefully off of Dean’s lap and folded them in his own. “I just did not understand how it felt. I do not blame you for that. I did mean it when I said that you can do what you want with me until your duty is done.” Dean breathed deeply at the words, trying hard to not let them bring an involuntary response from his pants. The angel continued, not realizing Dean’s deliberations, “It was wrong of me to behave so disconcerted. I was the one to kiss you first.” Castiel’s voice shook with feeling but Dean couldn’t place what emotion it was. “This vessel,” he said gestured to his body with his shackled hands, “makes me do and say things that I do not understand. I sometimes feel sensations and emotions I don’t ever remember having, when I am with you. I allowed myself to act carelessly and for that, I apologize.”

Dean was confused. The vessel was making Castiel feel emotions? That was not normal. So did that mean that Dean was kissing this poor sod that Castiel had inhabited? Fuck, he was an idiot! “So, this guy you’re riding? Does he talk to you? Does he, um, feel what you feel?” Dean asked, fearing the response. Castiel tilted his head considering that.

“No. Jimmy Novak, the previous owner of this vessel, evoked my help during a home invasion after he had been shot. He allowed me to take this body before he died, in return for saving and protecting his family from the gunmen. His soul is now safe in heaven.” Castiel looked at his raw wrists, touching the wet aloe with his fingers absently before saying, “Normally, it is like you say. The owner of the vessel can hear and feel what the occupant does. But Jimmy died while I was inhabited his body, so most of his thoughts and memories are still embedding in my mind.” Well, that answered the question as to why Castiel appeared and acted so human. “I can still feel the emotion he felt toward his wife and child. It is a burning and terrifying weight on my chest yet it makes my grace feel lighter. I do not understand it.”

“Its called love, Cas,” Dean whispered. It was strange hearing the angel speak so freely about a man he had essentially become. Castiel was confusing all of Jimmy’s feelings and emotions with his own. That must be exhausting, Dean thought. To be feeling all these new and unexplained thoughts for the first time. “That feeling you described is how it feels when you love someone.”

Castiel nodded again, contemplatively. A thought occurred to him and he asked teasingly, “Cas?”

Dean chuckled and reached for the Spiderman boxers, “Yeah, Castiel is a mouthful. Be grateful I’m not going to call you Cassie.” A look of surprise flickered across the angel’s face but was gone before Dean could ask. He handed Castiel the boxers and stood up. “Now, put these on. I have work to do.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Dean wanted to get away from the angel so he could think. Knowing that he was governed by human emotions was somewhat of a game changer. Breaking an angel was one thing but breaking an angel with the willpower for a man was going to be… nearly impossible.

Castiel fortunately knew how boxers worked and easily slipped them under his towel, settling them on his hips. He unwound the towel and gave it to Dean when he was prompted to. The angel studied the tiny superhero of red and blue, tracing the web patterns with his finger. A smile was forming on his face that made Dean’s heart flutter. It was a good choice. Sam, though almost two heads taller than Castiel, had the same sized waist when he was a teenager. Apparently they also shared a love of spiders too, Dean mused. He dropped the wet material in the laundry basket and hesitantly grasped Castiel’s elbow.

The angel did not flinch or jump at his touch but instead allowed Dean to guide him out of the bedroom. They walked slowly down the stairs, Castiel still unsteady with the added concern of maneuvering his giant wings down narrow passage. Dean was happy that the wings had been washed. The feathers gleamed clean in dull light even if several of them were bent out of place. Once the angel had settled and possibly securely tied up, Dean could attempt to groom them. It was a dizzyingly pleasurable thought.

Dean opened the door of the basement, with the key he now always carried in his pocket. He led the angel down into the training area, sliding the door closed they reached it. Castiel stood there, shivering as the cold of the room glossed over his exposed skin. Dean pointed to the blanket that was still on the floor. “Wrap up,” he ordered and then turned to the table littered with his equipment. He shifted a few things around and pulled out the sturdy electrifying collar. Turning back around he saw that Castiel had cocooned the worn fabric around his slight body. He looked like a woolen flagpole, Dean thought. He really needed to feed him more if he was going to survive training.

The angel looked wary as Dean approached with the metal-infused leather but obediently moved his head when he was asked. Dean fastened the collar carefully, not wanting to add to the abrasions already patterned on the angel’s pale skin. “This is an electrifying collar,” he explained. He let his thumb skim along Castiel clavicle with the pretense that he was checking the clasp. “If you get too close to the equipment table or attempt to leave this room, you will be shocked.” Castiel’s eyes widened slightly but he nodded in understanding. “I don’t want to chain you today cause I don’t want to irritate your wrists anymore than they already are. So be good and stay out of trouble, okay?” Castiel nodded again, meekly.

“I will heal,” he said simply, lifting his wrists for Dean to see. The redness was already starting to fade but most of the chaffing welts were still there. The magic suppression metal made it hard for angels to heal at the site of contact. “Thank you, Dean,” he murmured. “For the reward.”

Dean ran his fingers through Castiel’s still damp hair and smiled. “You are welcome, Cas.” The angel smiled back at the nickname and Dean’s joints felt like jelly. He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over Castiel’s forehead. He knew this moment needed to end but never wanted it to. Tomorrow was a new day and it would bring more pain for the angel. He needed to do his job even if it made his stomach knot in discomfort. There could be no more reprieve. The angel had said himself that he would concede to Dean’s will. How far that was true was unclear but come tomorrow; Dean had to find a way to break this angel before he, himself, was broken.


	11. Blood on his Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you are well. I know should come up with a convincing and fantastical reason why I haven't updated in so long... but honestly RL just got the better of me. I am finally in a sane place where I can write. 
> 
> This chapter would not have been even half readable without my gorgeous Beta. Thank you immensely, imthetitanic! And I am grateful to all those who stuck by the story through this horrendously long wait. Three cheers to you! =D
> 
> Warning: This chapter gets dark. Like, really dark. Warning for canon-typical violence and torture. Have a teddy bear handy, I'd say. But yea, Enjoy! =)

Dean felt a weird, tight feeling in his chest the next day. The feeling constricted his throat and made his breath weigh heavy on his tongue. 

He grimaced as he lowered the hood of the bright yellow Honda, fighting the urge to slam it. Jittery frustration pooled along the inside of his ribcage. Dean reached into his pocket for a rag to wipe his oil-stained hands. It made him madder still when he noticed his pocket was empty. Dean angrily rubbed his oil-splattered hands on his work jeans, swearing under his breath. He felt a hand whack him on the back of his head, sending careening forward.

“What the fu-“ He started but a certain frowning face stopped him short. A smile crept up his cheeks

“Dean Winchester!” chided the older brunette. She was dressed practically in a pair of dark jeans, a cotton tee and a cargo jacket. “You and your filthy mouth. What, were you raised on a barn?” She pushed a soft grey rag into his hands and pointed at the oil smears on his face.

“No, I was raised by you,” Dean said warmly, rubbing the material over his oil-stained cheeks and sweat-streaked forehead. Ellen hummed and leaned around him to look at the car Dean had just finished repairing.

“Is that the car that was dropped in yesterday?” Ellen asked. She scribbled the car’s details on her clipboard when Dean nodded. “The owner will be here at 4pm to pick it up. He said that he wants to talk to you about it, so be at the office around then or else I will send Jo to find you. ”

Dean groaned, “Elllleeeennn.” Ellen glared at him with mild irritation. He returned her glare with a pleading look. “Not today, Ellen. And I promise this isn’t just because I would rather shoot myself in the foot than take a client meeting. I really do have something on. Get Bobby to cover me, please?”

Ellen studied his face, like she was trying to decipher whether he was lying through his teeth or not. Dean would admit to having lied in the past to get out of talking to some blubbering idiot about their car when they obviously had no idea what they were saying. Seriously, how were they even given licenses!? (Yes, he did have a mild case of road rage, but what self-respecting driver doesn’t?) 

Ellen must have seen something in his face that resembled candor because she sighed deeply. “Alright, but this means that you pick up Bobby’s next consult, you understand?” Dean grinned and nodded. Ellen continued, “Why are you rushing off anyway? It isn’t like you actually have a girl or guy waiting for you back at home. Or are you blowing off work to see some floozy?” Dean pulled away, grimacing.

“Come on, El. Nobody calls them that anymore,” and hurried to add, “not that I am going to go see one,” when Ellen gave him a glower. “I just have some unfinished business is all. A friend of mine asked for a favor.”

“A friend? A friend like a girlfriend?” Ellen enquired. Dean shook his head. “Or a boyfriend?”

“No, Ellen,” Dean said sharply. He turned away to the car and buffed the already clean hood unnecessarily to avoid her gaze. “He’s just a friend. And I will have the job done by tonight so I can cover for Bobby tomorrow, Okay? Just drop it.”

A tense silence filled the garage, making the hair on Dean’s neck stand up. Ellen was always so good at this. She made Dean feel like spilling his guts or crawling away to hide in a corner simply by saying nothing. It was a trick that only ever worked on him. Sam, the stubborn ass, would continue to match Ellen’s silent treatment day after day until Bobby snapped and yelled at the both of them. After a minute of painful quiet, Dean hung his head and sighed. “Sorry,” he murmured, guilt seeping into his voice. That was no way to speak to Ellen, someone he truly loved and cared for. Dean knew better.

A soft, warm hand threaded into Dean’s hair, rubbing at his scalp affectionately. “That’s okay, dear,” Ellen said gently. “Dean, it has been over a year since Lisa left; maybe its time to move on. I know a nice girl that would be perfect for you. Let me give her your number. I am sure you will hit it off.” She let the hand run down to his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You don’t have to be alone, Dean. You deserve to be happy.”

Dean smiled weakly and turned around, moving in when Ellen reached to hug him. She smelled amazing, with hints of vanilla, berry and an undercurrent of gasoline. “Thanks, El.” Ellen rubbed circles around his back, reminding him of all the times when he was a child, screaming in fear during the night after a bad dream. Ellen would wrap him in her arms and rub his back, kiss him lovingly on the forehead and tuck him back in. Dean hadn’t spent an awful lot of time with Bobby and Ellen growing up but there were those occasional month-long jobs that his father pulled, leaving his pre-teen sons on the porch of his best friend’s house before speeding off into the distance. Dean tried to resent him for that but those days were some of the most warm and normal ones of his life. Sam could go to school everyday, lunches would be brown-bagged, afternoons consisted of Led Zeppelin music, and Ellen would tuck them in at night. It was during these long stays that Dean convinced Bobby to teach him all that he knew of the garage. Those were handy life-long skills that now put food on his table. He was grateful.

“That’s okay. Now go and sign off. You’re starting to smell like an old jerry can.” Ellen pulled away and patted him on the shoulder before walking back down to the offices. Dean watched her go, contemplating whether to pull off his snug work shirt or just dump his water bottle over his head. It was starting to feel stifling in the garage, the heat from the tin roof permeating into the room. Opting for neither, he gathering his tools and meticulously packed them away into their respective places. A tingling warmth was settling low in his torso when he taught of what was waiting for him at home. Long white limbs, deep blue eyes, and ebony black hair had never seemed so hot. He had urgent things to do but that did not mean that he would be neglectful. The job that needed to be done didn’t seem bad when it meant that he could touch that angelic being. Dean had to admit: he could easily describe the creature as angelic.

Beautiful.

Graceful.

All his.

******************************************

Dean was pulling into his driveway when his phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him in the cool calmness of the Impala. In his dazed and pensive mood, he hadn’t thought to play any music. When he saw the screen flashing with Sam’s name, he sighed guiltily. He didn’t have the time or patience to talk to Sam right now. He watched the phone continue to flash until it rang itself out. Now that he was home, he could almost smell the sweet fragrance of the angel. Dean could not help wanting to run downstairs and nuzzle his nose against Castiel’s neck, breathing in the essence of him. Feeling the warmth and smoothness of his pale flesh. Running his tongue down his jutting hipbones. In the back of his mind Dean knew that it should worry him more that he was so eager to get down to the creature he essentially needed to hand off to another person in a few weeks. Slipping the phone back into his jacket, Dean climbed out of the car.

While he contemplated whether to get some food, Dean found his feet making their way to the basement door of their own accord. Food could wait, the hunger that seemed to overwhelm his insides could not. Dean was going to develop a serious case of blue balls if he didn’t progress the training with Castiel soon or sort out a night on the town. Even if the prospect of ripping off Castiel’s Spiderman boxers and having his wicked way with him sounded incredibly appealing, Dean begrudgingly decided against it. The most important thing now was to help Benny. His needs could wait.

Castiel looked like he was dozing when Dean slide the door of the training room open. The creaking luckily did not rouse him but did make him twitch uneasily in his slumber. Dean slid into the cool confines of the room and walked up to the angel curled against the wall. His slack face, the only part of his body visible from beneath the blanket, was cushioned on his hands. Black wings were arched around his slight form like a halo. Dean knew that bindings made it impossible for Castiel to cocoon himself up completely with his feathers as he had seen the angel do in the past. Dean could see that the restricting metal was digging into the delicate skin along is wing. Not enough to cause bleeding, rather enough to illicit painful red welts along the skin. Dean gently slid his hand along the bruised and broken flesh, wanting badly for a second to rip them off. It wasn’t as if Dean enjoyed seeing a creature in pain. He just came to accept that it was part of the job - a necessary evil.

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest as he looked down at the vulnerable creature. It both excited and frightened him that Castiel was completely at his mercy. This type of power was blindingly addictive. Knowing that he could do anything. Anything. He could be as cruel or as depraved as he liked and the angel would not - no, could not fight back! Dean didn’t understand why he was faltering in the face of this freedom but the thought of hearing Castiel’s pained screams made him dizzy with dread. He dropped to his knees and forearms, succumbing momentarily to the feeling of haziness wash over him. He pressed his nose gently onto the angel’s lowered head. The recently washed locks glimmered in the low light and Dean unabashedly breathed in the fresh scent of grace. Castiel wouldn’t mind, he reasoned as he nosed the midnight hair, taking his fill with animalistic glee. The smell was intoxicatingly pure, uncorrupt by the usual stench of blood, sweat and dirt. He maneuvered the insentient head onto his shoulder and wrapped one arm gingerly around Castiel’s prone frame in a gesture suspiciously similar to a hug.

Dean’s eyes fluttered closed as he allowed the warmth and proximity of the angelic being to calm his unsettled nerves. The pressure he had felt the entire day was finally starting to abate. Soft white light appeared behind his lids and his heart slowed to a gentle thrum. For the first time in his life, Dean understood the feeling people described as being in the presence of holiness. He guessed that that was why people went to church or even prayed for that matter. He could definitely get used to this feeling. It was almost as if his body was not there. Only a semblance of his self existed intertwined with Castiel glowing form in a fusion of light and lust. Dean was so engrossed in his feeling of contentment that he did not notice Castiel wake until his gravelly voice startled him.

“Dean!” the angel yelped, pulling himself away in shock. Dean felt like his body drop at the suddenly empty sensation, physically in his arms and emotionally in his chest. The pacifying heat that had filled his body faded instantly, leaving him cold and shaken. Dean pulled himself into a crouch, trying not to let anger fill the space left by the rejection. He slowly looked at Castiel, who was trembling against one of the cages, his wings pushed as far out of Dean’s grasp as they could be manipulated against the binding. Dean lifted his palms up in a placating move, showing the angel that his hands were empty. They stared at each other for a while, each trying to compose themselves. Without realizing, Dean synchronized his breaths with the angel and gradually slowed it down to a normal speed. He would be grateful later when his mind supplied that that was how he used to calm Sam whenever he woke from a nightmare.

“Relax, angel,” Dean whispered once he saw Castiel visibly uncoil. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You did not frighten me, Dean,” Castiel stated, although Dean strongly suspected that he was lying. The angel straightened himself but still looked haunted. “I was caught off guard. I apologize for reacting like that.” Dean smiled in reply, not really knowing what to say. He suppressed the urge to tell the angel that a person was well within the right mind to be disconcerted when he woke to someone else on top of him. Well, considering the circumstances … Dean quashed the image of himself on floor of his basement, cuddling a sleeping angel. Argh. What was wrong with him?

Dean quickly lifted himself off of the concrete and strode with purpose to the equipment desk. With his back turned Dean let his voice boom commandingly, “Stand up.” He heard a shifting against the ground and he hoped that the angel had the self-preservation instinct to obey him. Dean really didn’t want to hurt the angel more than needed.

“Dean,” came a soft voice in response. “Please, you need to release my wings.” Dean turned partially, leaving his hand resting over the angel blade on the table. He sighed hating that would do what was necessary if it needed to be done. “It does not feel right, Dean. It feels bad. My grace seems like it is weakening. Dean, please.” Castiel’s voice was hurried but it was pleading. Dean searched his face. The angel looked confused and anxious. He didn’t think that the binding would affect Castiel in this way. Pain, he expected but not this disorienting fear. Dean needed to break past this. Anxiety could be dangerous when it was felt by beings as powerful as angels. While fear was a fantastic motivator, if used in the wrong way, it would spur a rebellious drive. He did not have time for this.

“No,” Dean stated firmly. “Get up. Now.”

“Dean?” Castiel frowned at him his eyes filling with questions at his withdrawn stance and demeanor.

Dean moved forward threateningly, angel blade in hand, making Castiel flinch back against into the cage. “You need to listen to me, angel. Or else I will be forced to hurt you.” He held up the blade to prove his point. “Don’t make me hurt you.” Dean hoped the last words came out as a threat, not begging.

Castiel shakily rose to his knees, letting the blanket fall onto the ground. Dean nodded his approval when Castiel moved forward without a word and held out his wrists. He took them gingerly, noting that the wounds under the shackles were still raw. One at a time, Dean hooked Castiel’s shackles to the overhanging chains. He jerked at a lever against the wall and the chain tightened, pulling Castiel’s arms straight. The angel hissed, head dropping, as he panted with pain.

Dean bit his lip, hating how the sound tugged at his chest. The red Spiderman underpants gave Dean a flash of recollection from the night before. He wished hatefully that he could go back to that time. He wanted to feel the gentle kisses and damp skin beneath his fingers. Yesterday, Castiel was inexplicably compliant, moving and behaving like a perfect pet. But the creature before him now did not have any of that sweet, yielding submission. The pain and prolonged exposure to the binding metal must have taken their toll, he decided. It was disappointing to see the angel regress in this way. Dean moved forward slowly and let his fingers thread into Castiel’s hair.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Cas,” he whispered. The angel looked up at him, once-bright azure eyes dull with fatigue. “Any more than necessary, that is,” he corrected. “Just be patient and you can be rewarded again.” Castiel frowned as Dean let his hand slip down to his neck.

“Dean, I understand why you are doing this, but you don’t need to. I can help. My brothers and I, we can help people. Whatever you are struggling with, even if it is about Benny, I can help.” Castiel’s eyes flashed with conviction and it made Dean’s breath go ragged. He shook his head at the angel’s words. It more than baffled him that despite the circumstances and obvious discomfort, Castiel was still concerned for him. Dean felt guiltily pleased that the angel cared so much for him. He couldn’t remember the last person besides family and Benny that actually worried about him. He would never admit this but it was a welcome feeling: knowing that someone cared.

Dean moved forward suddenly, cupping Castiel’s neck and bringing his face up to his. The angel’s lips were cold and chapped but Dean pressed against them roughly. The angel stilled under the treatment but did not pull away. It could be called a chaste kiss if Dean didn’t feel like his face would sear at the heat rising in his cheeks. Kissing Castiel was like drowning in an ocean of clouds. His senses always felt overwhelmed at the barrage of scents and touch. This close, Dean could swear Castiel’s grace was almost like a fog surrounding their bodies: warm, sweet, and undeniably salacious.

Dean didn’t hear what Castiel said the first time when he felt the angel talk against his lips. Dean pulled back, eyelids opening sluggishly in his haze. “What?” he asked unintelligently, running his hand down the angel’s arm. Castiel was looking at his dopey expression with concern written clearly on his face.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Castiel repeated, this time not obstructed by the man’s unrelenting lips. “What upsets you?”

Dean dropped his hand from the angel’s body and fidgeted with the angel blade. He trained his eyes on Castiel’s shoulder, where he could still almost make out the branding mark he put on him. The burnt skin was mostly healed, but Dean knew that though the shackles did allow for the healing of a wound, a scar would remain like it would on any human. He had also caused Castiel a lot of pain by forcefully binding his wings. While he admitted that it was crucial and necessary, Dean could not help feeling guilty about the sly way he had done it. The next words came out before Dean could think them through.

“I need your feathers,” he blurted. Dean blinked in surprise at his own candor but he hoped that honesty might be a small consolation what he would have to do. Castiel looked confused for a moment, tilting his head to the side, as he comprehended Dean’s words, then his eyes opened wide.

“No! Dean, you mustn’t,” he yelled. Castiel strained at the chains, for the first time that day struggling to distance himself from Dean. “It was wrong to bind my wings, it was blasphemous! And now you want to damage them?! Dean I implore you, please, do not do this.” Castiel forcefully yanked at his shackles and Dean saw blood start to run down the angel’s arms. He rushed forward, slipping the blade into his belt and grabbed Castiel’s forearms. The angel shrieked as if Dean’s hands were red-hot, trying in vain to tug himself away. Dean grit his teeth and pulled Castiel’s arms forward to stop him from hurting himself.

“Castiel, STOP,” he ordered. The angel continued to struggle, whimpering and hissing in pain each time the metal dug deeper into his wrists. “I SAID STOP!” Dean yelled and threw a heavy punch at Castiel’s stomach. Instantly, Castiel doubled forward in shock and pain, momentarily having had the wind knocked out of him. Dean used the forward motion to wrap his arms definitively around Castiel’s torso, pulling the angel’s head into the crook of his neck in a death grip.

“Just stop,” he said in a smaller voice. They were both breathing erratically, chests heaving from exertion. Castiel slowly calmed, hot puffs of air hitting Dean’s neck.

“Please, don’t do this, Dean,” Castiel whispered, voice hoarse. “I know I said I would allow you to do anything to me, but this is too much. My wings are holy. They are a gift from The Father himself. Do not…please… damage to them is irreparable.” The angel fumbled for words, throat contracting in fear.

Dean sighed deeply, hating that the relished holding the angel like this, despite the situation. “Angel,” he started and couldn’t find the words to convey how conflicted he felt about doing this. “Look, I really don’t want to do this. It’s just unavoidable. I’m so sorry.” Castiel groaned and tried to pull away again but could not so much as move under Dean’s vice grip. “Stop, Cas,” Dean chided. “I don’t want you to damage yourself!”

“Why?!” Castiel demanded. His voice was thick with emotion but Dean could hear the anger laced in the word. “If you do not want to do this, why do you perform such acts? You know what you do is sin, you are better than this, Dean. Just let me help you with what troubles you. I can make it better. Trust me. Just not this. Please.”

“You cannot help me, Castiel. There is nothing to help with. This is me, and it is simply a job. I can do it.” Dean couldn’t really understand to whom he was saying it,but it sounded convincing to his ears at least.

Castiel shook his head against Dean’s collarbone. “No,” he breathed. “Dean, you are so much more than this. I can see you. I can see inside you. Your soul, it is pure.” Dean slackened his grip and pulled Castiel’s head away from his shoulder. Dean held Castiel’s face with both his face, forcing the angel to look at him. They stared into each other’s eyes, green ones harmonizing with blue.

“You can see my soul?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “It is the brightest soul I have ever had the privilege of setting my eyes upon.” He continued, ignoring Dean disbelieving expression and snort, “Dean, you are not capable of doing this. You are worth so much more. More than you will ever realize!”

“You’re crazy, Cas. Of course, I can capable of this. I’ve done this before, hundreds of times! I am a trainer. This was what I was born to do. I can do this!” Dean felt himself getting worked up, irritation bubbling just below his skin. Dean would never admit it but people questioning his training always struck a cord. It probably had something to do with his father’s lack of trust and faith in his ability, so Dean chose to bury that emotion deep. Stupid angel! he growled internally as he slid the angel blade from his belt. Castiel sighed and opened his mouth to argue but Dean cut him off. “You say one more word and I will have no problem showing how good I am with this,” he said as he ran the point of the blade down Castiel’s cheek. The angel shivered and Dean could not tell if it was from the cold of the blade or the implication it brought.

“Besides,” Dean continued as he allowed the metal to dance down Castiel’s neck, pressing teasingly against the skin just shy of slicing. “My soul couldn’t be worth all that much if it wasn’t even enough to seal a crossroads deal.” Castiel looked up sharply and Dean had to pull the knife away quickly to avoid cutting him. “Careful angel. Wouldn’t want to kill you before I can even finish my job,” he snickered. Castiel looked at him a question clear in his eyes, and Dean conceded, albeit annoyed. “I tried to strike a crossroads deal when I was six. I know it’s probably just a myth; demons don’t have that kind of power. But after my mom died, dad drove Sam and me to this place up north. We waited in the car as he buried something in the middle of a deserted road and yelled up at the sky for hours. When he came back, he was so angry he yelled at Sam for crying and drank himself to sleep. Sam was only a baby, for fuck’s sake! He just really needed mom and she wasn’t there.”

Castiel lowered his eyes and Dean felt ridiculous for sharing something so personal. But when the angel looked back up, blue eyes so deep with sorrow that he felt compelled to continue. “After Dad fell asleep, I walked out on to the road and called out a demon, any demon. I didn’t think anything would come, but then this beautiful woman was standing there like she had been there the whole time. I asked her to give me back my mom. She just laughed in my face! I was just a stupid, naïve kid but I knew what demons usually wanted. So, I offered her my soul.” Castiel looked pained, and Dean didn’t understand why. “Look, don’t look so distraught. She didn’t take it!” he said irately. “She said that she would give my mom back if I gave her my soul after twenty years. I said yes, but just as she leaned down to kiss me, my old man climbed out of the car.”

Dean shook his head at the memory and tapped the blade on Castiel’s shoulder thoughtfully. “Um, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly happy with me. He grabbed me, hauled me back to the car, and gave me the walloping of my short life. When I turned back around, the demon wasn’t there.” Dean looked at Castiel and was glad there was no pity in the angel’s eyes, only puzzled sadness. “Anyway, I went back again, a few weeks later, stole a bicycle to get there and everything, but nothing ever turned up again. Sam thinks I probably just imagined it all. My dad never talked about it and I let it drop.” Dean stopped and took a deep breath, feeling the gloom ooze off of the angel in waves. The angel was watching Dean talk with a somber expression, lips tight like he was trying to hold in emotive words. Dean frowned and presumed that when souls were being pawned off to demons, heaven wasn’t all that happy about it. But it didn’t really make sense for Castiel to be so affected. It was perplexing, but Dean had come to accept that the angel was simply one of those overly sympathetic sorts. He was even concerned for Dean’s state of mind, irrespective of the fact that he was being held captive against his will.

“So, anyway. I don’t think my soul is worth all that much. I couldn’t use it to get back the person my family needed the most. I don’t even know why my old man stopped me. He made it perfectly clear as long as he was alive that my life was worthless. He should have just let me give up my goddamned soul.”

“Dean,” Castiel croaked and Dean was too taken aback at the rawness of the word to make good on his promise with the blade. “Please, do not say that. Your soul is precious. You may not understand now, or ever, but the flame that fuels your soul is what brings validation to those who seek purity. Even I have-“Castiel broke off with a gasp as if he was stung. “You are a righteous man, Dean,” he choked out instead. “As was your father. But unlike you, he was not strong. That was why he fell.” Dean glowered and moved the angel blade that he was idly holding against Castiel’s shoulder to press against his neck.

“My dad was many things but he was NOT weak,” Dean denied vehemently. To be honest, he didn’t understand why he was standing up for a man that he had predominantly feared growing up. But Dean was nothing if not loyal to his blood. “And I am not ‘righteous’”, he spat. “I used to capture and sell broken angels for a living. I have even burnt, beaten and tortured you.”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel said sagely. “But this is not you, you are destined for so much more. I will pray that God will set you on your right path soon. You will come to see that this is all a mistake and release me willingly.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Cas. You can’t trick me into releasing you,” Dean stated. “For the record, even if God existed, he doesn’t care about what I do. And more importantly”, Dean said with a derisive smile, “he doesn’t give two craps about what happens to you.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he turned his head away in a way that Dean would describe as exasperated. “What’s wrong, angel? Did I hit a little too close to home?”

“Stop, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was commanding and for a split second Dean felt a prickling need to obey. He shook his head against the impulse. Strange.

“You don’t give the orders around here, Castiel,” Dean said and shoved the angel in irritation. He felt twinge of guilt when Castiel huffed in pain as the shackles dug into his wounded wrists. “I don’t know who you think I am but I am just a man with nothing to lose. I lost both my parents, the love of my life and Sam is far enough away that you winged bastards can’t get to him. I don’t care what it takes. I – will – break – you.”

Castiel met Dean’s challenging eyes and a moment of absolute silence engulfed the room. Dean let out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding and stepped back. He had shocked himself with the venom behind his words. Castiel had somehow managed to make Dean relapse into the trainer mindset. The cold and vicious one that only cared about completing the job, all while taking inhumane pleasure in bringing suffering upon the angelic species. Lisa had watched him for months while he worked to quell his thirst for violence. He had once shoved Ben when he relapsed the first time. Lisa had forgiven him for that. Dean knew he didn’t deserve it, but he was infinitely grateful. After leaving the profession for a while, he found it easier to forgot how dizzyingly addictive the power was. It was a nasty place to be. Dean had no doubt that John Winchester had easily accepted the darkness that came with the job until the day he died, but he didn’t want to become that.

“Cas… look, I-“ he started.

“What happened to you, Dean?” Castiel asked in a voice, no louder than a whisper. “What made you this way? Why do you succumb to sin in this way, knowing that it goes against everything you believe?”

Dean guffawed at the angel’s presumptuousness. “You don’t know how what I believe! And nothing made me this way. I was taught to be trainer. This was the only good thing that my father gave to me. I am good at what I do and there is nothing wrong with that. Let me prove it to you.”

Without letting his thoughts cloud any further, Dean reached behind the angel and closed his hand around thick, dark feathers. Castiel’s eyes widened in shock as Dean added pressure, pulling down on the handful with one monumental wrench. The angel’s head fell back, gasping deeply before the pain finally reached its pinnacle. The gut-wrenching scream that tore out of Castiel’s mouth felt like sharp, dagger-like icicles digging into Dean’s chest. The sensation was similar to being thrust into a stream of ice-cold water straight out of the blistering sun. The light bulbs around them momentarily shone bright before exploding, showering the room in broken glass. Dean watched as the angel’s face contorted in incontrollable agony, body pulling away instinctively like a terrified animal. His eyes watered, his breath caught painfully in his throat. Adrenaline quaked through his body and Dean swore as his vision clouded.

He didn’t realize that he had moved back, one hand against the wall as he blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness. When Dean looked back at Castiel, his eyes streaming, he saw that the angel’s head was resting in his chest. The sound that had send penetrating tremors through Dean’s skull was now a muted wail. Dean stumbled forward, legs unsteady and eyes still watering. He clenched his fist and belatedly noticed that he had something soft in his hand. Dean looked down at the black mess of feathers in his palm. There could not be more than five in total but they were massive, the longest one spanning entire length of Dean’s forearm. The blood that coated the stems of the feathers was now pooling in the palm of his hand. Dean valiantly resisted the urge to throw up. He hastily threw the feathers on the workbench and wiped the blood off on his jeans. It just smeared thickly across his arm, looking similar to Castiel’s blood-soaked limbs.

Dean stared at the feathers on the desk, knowing and hating that it would not be enough. He looked back at Castiel and shuddered involuntarily when he met the angel’s eyes. Castiel looked wrecked. The red tendrils seemed to engulf sclera provided a stark contract of storm-blue irises. The angel was glowering at Dean with might and anger. Pain was evident in his pinched expression and his chapped lips trembling in a barely contained whimper. Dean swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and moved forward with contrition.

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean forced himself to step into the angel’s space, crowding close enough to feel his pained pants against his lips. He dug his fingers into his hands to stop himself from pulling the angel into a hug, pressing his lips on Castiel’s head and murmur apologies until his voice ran hoarse. “I know it hurts. I am so sorry. But it needs to be done.” Dean hesitantly lifted his hand and rested it on Castiel’s back. He expected a twitch or a struggle but Castiel stared back at him unwaveringly.

“Do it,” Castiel breathed. Dean choked on a curse.

“What? Now you want me to hurt you? After what you said?” Disbelief shrouded every word. Dean ran his fingers up Castiel’s back, stopping an inch away from his wing.

“Dean,” Castiel started exhausted and Dean could hear his age behind his voice. “I still believe that what you are doing is sinful. It is sacrilegious in its most unmarred form. But I will concede. If giving up my wings for your salvation is what is required of me, I give them wholeheartedly.”

Dean stared at Castiel and saw that his eyes were now blown. It was not due to lust but to a more pious bliss. Castiel actually believed that this was some divine fate and the Dean could not help but feel pity for the creature. “Angel, you need to stop saying that,” Dean said, licked his lips. He kept glancing down at Castiel’s lips, so close he could almost feel the smooth flesh but he knew better than to act. “I know you have faith in a higher order but believe me when I say that this is purely business.” Castiel yelped when Dean’s wandering hand brushed over the bleeding remains where he had pulled out him feathers. Dean pulled back immediately, reaching the hand instead against a portion of healthy wing. “I don’t purposefully want to hurt you, Cas. This is important.”

“Dean, for what reasons you feel you need to do this, I understand.” Dean tightened his grip around the feathers in warning but Castiel continued with a pained gasp. “You feel like you have never deserved love, Dean.”

“Stop talking, angel.”

“After your mother passed away. You only had your brother to form a bond of love and trust. But you must know that while your father was not loving, he still lo-“

“SHUT UP. Now.” Dean pulled down again and this time it was harder. It seemed as if Castiel’s wings were fighting against their own destruction. This time Castiel yelled so hard and long, Dean felt his eardrums pop and he fell to his knees. Pain radiated through his head and he grit his teeth against Castiel’s next words.

“Just because you have lost Lisa and Ben does not mean you are worthless. You still have Sam and Benny,” the angel sputtered the words through the blood that dripped out of his mouth between screams. Dean stowed the angel blade and absently supposed the angel had bit his tongue accidently when his jaw locked in pain. “You don’t need to save Benny to prove your worth, Dean.” He caught Dean’s gaze and held it with understanding that made Dean’s inside’s curl. “You do not think you deserve to be saved,” Castiel stated in sad realization.

And that was the last straw.

Dean threw the bloodied feathers to the ground and twisted the angel around in the chains, this time not caring when Castiel sounded distressed at the agonizing pressure on his wrists - It couldn’t be even close to the excruciating pain of getting his feathers ripped out of the most sensitive part of his body. Mindlessly in rage, Dean grabbed handfuls of feathers from random sections and yanked. The resulting outcry didn’t affect him all that much as dizzying energy filled his veins. Dean blocked anything but the black, shinnying feathers in his hand. He grabbed, pulled and released. Grab, pull and release. Again. And again.

Soon Dean’s hands were too slick with blood to grip any more feathers. Castiel’s constant screams of pain were now croaky groans. Coming down from his rush and impulse to hurt, Dean’s head cleared enough from him to realize what he had done. He studied the mass of wreckage before him. Large patches of skin were now devoid of the shiny black covering, left instead with tattered and bleeding gouges. The damage was horrific.

Dean lifted a hand to his mouth to stifle a shocked sound, forgetting momentarily the blood that coated his hands. He instantly ripped it away when the hot, metallic smell of iron made his gut churn threateningly. He had done this. Collecting feathers from a captive angel was an amateur’s job. Dean had done it countless times before but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. The wings that were quivering before him were straining against the bindings in broken shreds.

Dean walked around the angel, coming to a slow stop in front of him. Castiel had his head bowed, dark strands concealing his eyes, but Dean saw that his mouth was open in silent sobs of agony. He let his bloodstained hand find the angel’s chin, gently nudging it up. Castiel responded with a whimper, lifting his face lethargically as if it was a herculean effort. Dean cupped the angel’s cheek, hoping to relieve him of the trouble of holding his head up. Castiel immediately sagged into his grasp, eyes closed, either not knowing or caring that his own blood was smearing on his face.

All the fight had left Castiel, as had the anger that fueled Dean’s tirade. Now, they were both just two broken pieces trying hard to remind themselves why they were in their respective positions. Dean bought his face forward and gently pressed it upon Castiel’s forehead, tears stinging in his eyes. He had just taken away Castiel’s wings. That was the most sacred part of an angel. Castiel had begged him to stop but Dean hadn’t. It sickened him that the trainer in him was pleased with the process he had as he glanced down at the floor, littered with black plumage. It made him queasy when he realized that he was relapsing. Alcohol abuse and beating an angel was one thing but… what Dean had done was mindless violence. The manner in which he had torn through Castiel’s delicate appendages scared him. Even if it meant that he was helping a friend, Dean did not want this! He did not want to become that again. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of Castiel’s blood and grace - now laced with a sickening sour tang – owning his mistake.

“Cas,” he breathed. “Cas, I am sorry. I never met to lose control like that. I didn’t want to hurt you. Believe me, I could have made this much less painful,” Dean confessed. “I don’t know how I… I am so sorry. I swore to go- I swear. I didn’t mean to do this, Cas!.How could I have been so- Oh Cas!” Dean babbled and intrepidly held back angry tears that made his vision blur. “I would ask you to forgive me but I know I don’t deserve it.”

Castiel flickered his eyes open, shooting Dean an earnest look. “Dean, you cannot convince me that you are not worth my forgiveness.” The angel sighed, trying to regain his footing. He was strained bodily against his bindings, the shackles digging deeply into his flesh. Dean wordlessly helped him shift to alleviate some of the agonizing pressure. “Despite what you believe, I still have faith in you.”

Dean groaned, wrapping his arms around the angel’s torso, carefully avoiding his injured wings. “Cas…”

“No, Dean. While I will not forget that day as the day I was closed off from heaven, I will, however, ALWAYS forgive you,” Castiel rasped. His tired azure eyes held Dean’s and he nodded in clemency.

Dean tightened his grip, pressing his face on Castiel’s shoulder. He hated that he was the one being comforted even when he knew the angel was only inches away from passing out in pain. As if on cue, Castiel’s body wavered, dancing a tightrope between consciousness and blissful unawareness. Dean was tempted to release Castiel so that he could lower his arms and sleep against the wall but knew that that would only cause more damage to his wings. There was no way Dean could even bandage the seeping wounds, they were still bleeding freely and any pressure would be excruciating. Even if this were a horrendously uncomfortable position to sleep, Castiel would have his wings suspended and away from the unforgiving concrete.

“I will reward you, Cas. I promise. When you wake up. I will try and make the pain go away,” he pledged with resolve. “I am not a terrible person,” he whispered in spite of himself.

“No,” Castiel agreed easily, voice slurring. “Your soul … beautiful. I go … hell and back to retrieve it.” The angel was almost incoherent pausing between each word like it could be his last. “Dean … you righteous … man.”

“Alright, angel. Sleep now,” he soothed. “You are not making sense anymore.” Dean slowly released his embrace and let Castiel sag forward. He moved a lever and the chain pulley loosened so the angel could lean forward slightly, wings still held away from the ground.

Dean ran a finger through the hair pasted on Castiel’s sweat-soaked forehead and placed a soft kiss his brow. The angel had been through so much today. Feeling emotionally and physically drained Dean crunched around broken glass, unhurriedly picked up the beautiful black feathers. Most were scattered individually some were still clumped together against a thin layer of torn-out flesh. Dean willed himself to hasten, trying to stop the sour bile that was coming up his throat. He grabbed all the feathers he could, only leaving behind opaque down, too soft to be of any use to traders. Throwing the feathers onto his working bench, Dean reached below his table to pull out an old, tattered duffel. In quick fluid movements, he pushed the bloodied black feathers inside.

He mind tried but failed to push Castiel’s words out of his head. Even in the fits of agony, the angel had passionately orated that Dean’s soul was beautiful. That was a pill for Dean to swallow. If anything, he had gone his whole life hating his soul. Thinking back to the night at the crossroad just made Dean seethe in anger and sadness that he was worthlessly incapable of helping his family. If only he could have made the deal, his parents would both be alive today, even it meant his soul would be in the grimy hands of a demon. Come to think of it, Dean mused humorlessly, had he sealed the deal all those years ago, he would probably be soulless right now. It had been exactly twenty years and a week since that night and here he was standing. As Dean pressed the last of the dark feathers into the bag, he wanted with everything that made him sane to be burning in hell for what he had done to Castiel.


	12. Needle in the Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Please accept this chapter as a celebration for reaching 300+ Kudos and also my birthday =] Any mistakes are my own, as I edited this chapter. Thanks, guys. Enjoy! =)

Dean woke to the sound of Zep’s Ramble on, heart thudding at the sudden noise. He let the music play a few more beats, enjoying the melody before his mind caught up to the source of the music. Dean scrabbled around under his pillow for his phone and pressed the flashing green button. 

“Hello,” he rasped into the phone. In his sleep-addled state Dean hadn’t thought to check who it was and hoped it wasn’t Bobby, calling to tell him to get his ass over to work early. 

““Hey Dean!” Sam chimed on the other end. “What’s up?”

“Sam,” Dean started threatening and looked over at the bedside clock. His grumpiness subsided when he saw that it wasn’t some ungodly hour. In fact, Dean would have had to wake up in another half-hour anyway. 

“What?” Sam asked innocently and then snickered loudly. ”Did I ruin your beauty sleep?” Dean rolled his eyes and sat up, one hand rubbing his face tiredly. He hadn’t gotten to bed that late last night but sleep was slow to come and filled with dreams of red/black shadows. 

“Shuddup Samantha,” Dean rebutted not unkindly. “Unlike you, we don’t all use make-up to cover up dark circles.”

“That’s not what I saw on your birthday the year before,” Sam teased and Dean made a noise of indignant protest. 

“It wasn’t my idea to look like a painted whore! Lisa made me-“ Dean cut himself of abruptly. He recalled the party with embarrassing clarity. After pulling two back-to-back double shifts at the garage to cover for another worker Dean had come home looking like he had been pummeled. Lisa had given him one look and had shuffled him into a shower and then bed for a nap before the big party. When he woke up she fussed over him with a makeup brush and several powders/creams. Dean would vehemently deny going along with it because he was curious about Lisa’s hoard of cosmetics and liked that it made him look more chiseled. He told everyone who noticed his healthy complexion that Lisa had forced him into the make-up madness against his will while occasionally admiring his own glowing face. But Lisa wasn’t here anymore. And Dean pledged to accept any bags under his eyes as symbols of his loss. 

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “How are you? Really?” Dean heard concern in his voice and it made him want to seethe. He took a deep breath and tried not to snap at his brother.

“I’m fine, Sam. I was fine last week, I was fine last month and I will be fine in the future. Just stop asking me!” Dean let the last words come out sharply. He was sick of being coddled by his brother, Ellen and Jo. He understood their fear. Dean had been in a pretty bad shape the weeks following Lisa walking out on him. It was just irritating that they didn’t trust him when he told them that he was okay. He was okay. Well, as fine as could be expected. 

“Right, okay Dean,” Sam replied sounding unconvinced. “Um, just checking in. Jessica just wanted me to ask how you were doing. She noticed that you hadn’t called in a few days.”  
Dean sighed again. Sam loved using this tactic and he couldn’t begrudge him for it. Dean would never get angry with Jessica for caring and when Sam had discovered this fact he made it his goal to exploit that weakness, as much as he could. Dean was always grateful to Jessica for being so patient with Sam and his wacked up family that he appreciated her attention. “Sammy, we talked a couple of days ago, remember. Nothing has changed since then. I’m good. Tell Jessica not to worry.” Dean added the last part for Sam’s benefit so they could keep up the pretense. 

“Okay, Jessica’s here and she glad to hear that” Sam said and Dean could imagine his sheepish smile. “Sorry, it’s just that Ellen called yesterday about flight tickets and she mentioned that you were a little short with her.”

“Nothin’ is short about me, gigantor.” Dean said without missing a beat. He then cleared his throat and said more quietly, “Um, it’s alright, Sam. I was just tired. I had some errands to run and Ellen just kept bringing up… things that I didn’t want to talk about. “

Sam hummed understandingly and mumbled something Dean knew wasn’t aimed at him. He held the phone patiently while Sam spoke to his girlfriend who was no doubt beside him. “Jessica wants to know if you are sure you don’t want to just fly over. That way you can spend more time here, over the weekend, instead of behind the wheel.” 

“No, you know how I feel about those metal deathtraps. Bobby and I will leave after work and drive there in time for the party. I can probably take a couple of days off after if Bobby lets me.” Dean had tried to insist that he was happy to drive down by himself but Bobby had gruffly told him shut it. Jo and Ellen had quipped that didn’t want to spend hours in a car with two grumpy old men and opted for air travel instead. 

“Okay, Dean. Just leave early so you can rest up before the party.” Sam went silent and then sounded nervous when he said, “Um, Jessica and I need to talk to you when you get here.”  
Dean’s heart skipped a beat and he forced himself to stop thinking the worst. “What’s wrong, Sam? Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah! Yes. Um, everything is fine. We just wanted to tell you something but it can wait. Just get here safely okay?” Dean knew when Sam sounded cagey but decided to wait just so he could see his brother’s face when he spoke. Dean had an uncanny ability to tell if Sam was lying. He could wait till Saturday. 

“Okay Sammy,” Dean replied and said his goodbye, rolling his eyes again when Sam told him to take care of himself. Sam probably got that loan he wanted to open his own practice Dean guessed as he hopped out of bed. That would be awesome news. Dean had offered to sell their Dad’s place to give Sam the money but that was an age-old argument that he just was not going to win. He could recall the words “tainted money” being bandied around the last time he bought the topic up and it had not been pleasant.

Dean groggily shifted his feet to the ground, wrinkling his nose when they touched the cool floorboards. He reached to put his phone on the bedside table when he noticed another notification flashing on his screen. Dean flicked to the page and saw that he had a voicemail from an unfamiliar number. The call had come in late last night, probably when he was asleep. Unsure, Dean lifted the phone to his ear and listened. 

A determined female voice piped, “Dean Winchester. My name is Elizabeth Lafitte. Uncle Benny has asked me to ship some merchandise from you. Please call me on this number so that we can arrange a meeting.” Dean blinked and pulled the phone away from his ear. He replayed the message once more making sure that he heard right. Benny had a niece? Well, that was new to him. It would make sense that Benny would only trust family considering the position he was in. At that thought Dean’s heart fluttered involuntarily. That meant that he was Benny’s family too. Dean smiled softly and redialed the number. He was being a fucking romantic of all things. Argh. 

“Elizabeth Lafitte,” promptly responded the voice at the other end of the line. Dean fumbles to keep the phone up, having not expected such a fast reply. 

“Er, this is Dean. Dean Winchester. Benny asked you to-“ Dean began.

“Yes, Mr. Winchester. My uncle contacted me a couple of days ago and told me that you need some angel stock to be transported… discretely.” Elizabeth’s no non-sense and direct tone reminded Dean of Benny. All business and no play with the Lafittes. God, he needed his coffee. 

“Yes, Elizabeth is it? Call me Dean. I need some angel feathers taken to Benny. I’m not sure how much he told you but he is in some trouble with the hellhounds. You ever heard of Crowley?” Dean kept the phone to his ear as he looked around for some pajama bottoms. He always preferred sleeping in boxers but the cold morning air was giving him goose bumps. 

“Yes, Uncle Benny filled me in.” Elizabeth sounded calm but Dean heard a hint of worry in her voice. “We had better not discuss this over the phone. They could be listening. Is there a place we can meet for the hand-over? Preferably sooner rather than later.” 

Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes again, thinking. He could call in to work sick but that would just bring up more questions from Bobby and Ellen. No, it would have to be after work. And the exchange would have to be in a place that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. A coffee shop or mall would be too public (people might question the exchange of a duffel specked with blood). Elizabeth couldn’t come here because Dean wasn’t very sure he trusted her. Benny had never mentioned having a niece. He knew about his sister that had passed away but there was no way of telling if this person was actually related to Benny. Without knowing for sure, he wouldn’t let her come close to Castiel. There was also the added concern that the house was not likely being watched. Dean looked around the room as if it would give him the answer when his eyes rested on his keys sprawled on the desk.  
“I think I know just the place,” Dean said standing up and walking idly over to the desk. He patiently waited as Elizabeth wrote down the address he told her before he said in an apologetic tone, “I can only make it by 8pm tonight. That okay?”

“That’s fine,” Elizabeth responded brusquely. “Are you sure the place is secure?”  
“Yes, I don’t think Crowley even knows I own the place. I paid good money to keep the ownership off all records. Just wait out back and I will let you in.” Dean said. Elizabeth hummed her assent before the line clicked off. 

“Quite a chatty one, that girl,” Dean mumbled to himself as he moved into the bathroom, shivering at the chilly tiles. It early enough that he had to flick the lights on before using the toilet. As he washed his hands he contemplated whether he should have a shower to warm himself up when caught his reflection in the mirror. The image that looked back at him was shocking. Dean’s skin was glowing. Not in an ethereal sort of way but a hue that boasted impeccable health. Dean looked alert and fresh. He had expected to see dark circles considering his poor sleeping patterns but his eyes were a bright, vivid green. 

Dean leaned into the mirror lifting his hand to trace the edge of his left eyebrow. He was shocked when he didn’t feel the small jagged scar he had gotten during an angel hunt. Dean turned his head quickly, running his hand down his scalp trying to feel for the small patch of hair that was almost bald, after he had accidently burnt himself during a camping trip with Bobby. His heart was pounding when his fingers only found dense hair growth. Dean breathed heavily, feeling unsure and a little frightened as he lifted his skirt, turning carefully to view his back. It was bare. Completely and utterly unmarred. Dean blinked in shock, self-consciously running one hand down his back. His eyes prickled and he didn’t really understand why. He should be happy that the years of scars he had collected were gone. All the belt marks, cuts from thrown bottles and scraps from numerous hunting trips were gone. It was breathtaking and incredibly unsettling. What could have done this?!

The fact was Dean hadn’t actually looked at himself properly in a while. He avoided mirrors on principle since he was a child, hating to see the bruises and cuts he was trying to hide from the world. Also, Dean wasn’t by any means a vain man. He knew he was attractive if only by noting how women responded to his advances and cooed his name in bed. But it was Lisa who allowed him to see himself as something more. That he was someone sensual and handsome despite his many imperfections. He took pride in looking good for his wife and making an effort for her felt like a small but significant change. However, all that went away when Lisa left, closing the door behind her. 

Dean stared at his reflection and tried to control his breathing. There was probably some explanation for this. Granted he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken stock of all his marks but they could not have vanished like this on their own. Dean didn’t know how he felt about seeing all the evidence of his screwed up childhood gone. All he knew was that they used to be a part of who he was; a broken shell of a man, with nothing but scars to his name. 

Dean leaned his hands on the sink, thinking hard as to what had happened recently that could have done this to his body. His heart clenched in guilt, when his mind flitted almost immediately to Castiel. Dean had left the angel immediately after securing him down for the night. He tried to convince himself that he hurried out because he was tired and in pain, referencing the blood that dripping out of his ears. But in honestly, Dean had just felt numb. The build up of emotion had come crashing down so hard, once he left the Castiel, that he felt a bone-deep fatigue. Dean had trudged his way up the stairs, duffel clutched tightly in his hand. He had hidden the bag in the wardrobe in his old bedroom, behind layers of old cloths. Once he had been certain that the feathers was safe, Dean had stepped into the shower, fully clothed, letting the water wash off all remnants of blood and Castiel’s aguish. Dean had peeled off each layer, letting the water cleanse him superficially knowing the image of red, staining his hands would never leave him. After that, he had crawled into bed, too tired to even cry his guilt away. 

Shaking himself against the rising feeling of sadness and anger at his own cowardice, Dean turned the tap and scrubbed water into his face. Shit! He hadn’t even stayed long enough to ensure that Castiel’s wounds had stopped bleeding. Unlike any cuts on the angel’s body, Dean knew that wings could not be healed easily. That was very sloppy training work and he knew it. Dean resolutely brushed his teeth; scrubbing much harder than was necessary, making his gums bleed. He would have to go down and patch up whatever damage he had caused. But as he spat pink foam into to porcelain, Dean’s stomach grumbled loudly.  
Ok. Breakfast first. Then he could visit the angel. He internally reasoned with himself. Yes, he was too hungry to concentrate and not prolonging the moment before he had toe face the mess he had made. And maybe, once Castiel was calm enough to talk, Dean could ask about his scars.

Dean dressed quickly, feeling warmer as each layer was added. He only had a couple of hours before he had to leave for Bobby’s so he needed to move fast. He made his way down to the kitchen, squinting at the orange-yellow light streaming into the house. Dean sets a pan on the stove and cracks in some eggs while the toaster worked on his bread. He moved the golden goo around the pan, letting its solidify as he munched on a cold pop tart. (He had picked them up ritually as he always did when he went shopping. Sam used to love them when they were kids and so had Ben.) Dean spooned the scramble into his plate and lightly buttered his toast enjoying the smell of warm bread. He finished his meal in record time topping it off with a glass of chilled orange juice. 

Hot food always made him feel better, even on his crappiest days. As Dean washed the dishes he decided that food could do wonders on Castiel too. He opened and then closed the fridge, seeing that he had used up the last of the eggs. Grumbling that he needed to go shopping again soon, Dean looked in the pantry, shifting through packets of crackers, tuna and miscellaneous other boxes before he spotted what he was looking for. Dean shook the bottle of pancake powder and then grabbed milk from the fridge. Once he had the batter to the perfect constancy (after much rigorous shaking) Dean reset the pan on over to stove.  
The pancakes turned out soft but not as fluffy as they would have had Dean made the batter from scratch. He made all the pancakes he could with the batter, slathering on butter and golden syrup. The angel could use energy if he was going to heal his wings, even partially. In a flare of culinary flourish, Dean squirted a spiral of whipped cream on the side of the short stack. Pleased with himself, he grabbed a napkin and a metal fork from the drawer. He decided against a knife, his inner-trainer advising him to limit the angel’s opportunities to stab him. 

Hoisting the plate laden with pancakes and a glass of water Dean made his way down the stairs to Castiel. It was a difficult task balancing the food, drink and attempting to open the lock but he luckily managed without spilling anything. Dean triumphantly slid open the door adjoining the living space to the training room. Castiel was awake but had his head bent in prayer. Dean knew that the angel had heard him come in but stubbornly kept his eyes squeezed shut, lips moving in concentration. Dean smirked at the Castiel’s petulance but then felt a pang of guilt when he saw a streak of dried blood on his cheek. Dean looked around quickly and spoted a plastic chair beside the wall. Putting down the water, he dragged the chair over until it was positioned directly in front of the angel and placed the plate on it with a gentle clatter. 

The angel continued his supplication for a few seconds longer before he stopped abruptly. Almost like a dog, Castiel lifted his nose and sniffed at the air in front of him. Dean smiled fondly at him. Castiel slowly opened his eyes, meeting Dean’s gaze momentarily before looking down at the syrupy hot cakes. The way the tip of Castiel’s tongue darted out and wet his pale, chapped lips made Dean’s heart skip a beat. The angel was viewing the food with a fervor Dean normally reserved for particularly busty Asian beauties. 

“Well, at least we know the best way to shut you up,” he jokes as he swiftly unlatched Castiel’s wrists. Dean was not expecting the angel’s knees to buckle at the lack of restrains and fall heavily into his arms. Castiel felt small and frail which made it easy for Dean to maneuver the plate out of seat with one hand while depositing his armful of angel into the chair. Castiel sat, wincing as his wings were jostled against the plastic. 

“Sorry, angel,” Dean muttered before setting the plate on Castiel’s lap. The angel took the offered plate gratefully, bringing the food up to nose to take a deep appreciative sniff. “Um, just don’t try an impale me with the fork, ok?” Dean asked him, only half joking, as he handed over the utensil. 

“That’s ridiculous, Dean,” Castiel responded, clearly occupied with cutting into the first pancake with tender deliberation. “You body is very appealing to me, I would never want to marr it.” He paused momentarily, fork hovering above the plate, as if waiting for permission.

“Go on, Cas. It’s for you,” Dean encouraged in a breathy voice, shocked at Castiel’s words. He watched with satisfaction as Castiel slowly put the first piece in his mouth. A truly scandalous noise erupted from the angel and made Dean’s dick jump in interest. Castiel went in for another bite and coughed dryly when he tried to swallow. Dean bought the cup of water over to him and gingerly patted his back as Castiel gulped the liquid. Thinking about the angel’s words Dean couldn’t help feeling slightly abashed. He took the empty glass and said, “Angel, are you hitting on me?”

Castiel looks at him with confusion as he forked a large slice of pancake into his mouth. Syrup dripped slightly down the corner of his mouth. Dean’s hands were resting on both armrests now, leaning forward so that he was only inches away from Castiel’s questioning gaze. His eyes zeroed in on the offending drop, sorely tempted to lick it off Castiel’s stubbly chin. Dean swallowed thickly before raising a hand slowly to Castiel’s face. Castiel who was in the business of stabbing another syrupy piece tensed as Dean touched his face. Dean softly rubbed his thumb along Castiel chin and across his lips before bringing the finger up to his own mouth. Castiel stared at him as he sucked the golden mess off with deliberate licks. Castiel followed his movements, lips parting involuntarily as Dean sucked off his own finger. Feeling salacious, Dean smirked and moved away, feeling triumphant at having caused a reaction out of the angel. He didn’t know why he wanted to see that look of interest in Castiel’s eyes but it made him hot with pleasure knowing that the angel found him as appealing as he found him. 

Dean cleared his throat trying to remain professional. He moved over to the workbench when Castiel hesitantly resumed eating. The table was littered tools and contraptions for causing pain. Deciding not to ponder on it, Dean reached under the table for the dusty first aid kit. Normally, there was no use for it here because trainers were not usually in the business of patching up their charges. Dean knew that his dad had mainly bought it just to keep the authorities happy, as regulations stated each training room had to have one, regardless of whether the trainer chose to use it or not. 

Dean blow on the lid of the box and a grey cloud drifted off. He cleared the table with one hand, shoving the pieces of cold metal and leather aside before dropping the kit on the surface. It took a couple of tries to get the clasp off and Dean was not disappointed with the contents. Even if the first aid kit was only a regulation one, it held all the necessary equipment needed for treating angel wounds. Whistling softly, Dean picked up the medicated gauze, ointment and antiseptic spray, examining the make. He turned to look at Castiel who was watching him as he steadily made his way through the pancakes. It made Dean wonder how the angel was able to remain calm despite, what he imagined unbelievable pain. 

Castiel’s wings were in tatters, blood and grace oil appearing as oily clumps against the dark feathers. Long gashes where the delicate skin was pulled away from the bone still glistened with blood. Dean weighed the supplies in his hand, knowing that simply rubbing ointment and covering the wounds won’t be enough. There was just too damage was too much. Swallowing guiltily, Dean turned back to the box and dropped the gauze and ointment into it. He moved the assortment of medical equipment aside and found what he was looking for right at the bottom. 

Castiel looked at Dean with confusion and fear when he came closer, holding a curved needle and a spool of suture thread. Dean didn’t want to meet Castiel’s eyes as he threaded the needle carefully. “Angel,” he started, pulling the string through and tying it off, “I need to fix those wounds or you might bleed out.” Great job Dean! Blunt truth was the way to go. Castiel to his credit didn’t look scared or confused anymore, instead he looked relieved. Dean tried not to think about what Castiel thought he would do with the needle. He walked around the angel and surveyed the damage. It looked much worse from the back; each cut and bruises on display over a blanket of black feathers. Dean took and deep breath and shook the antiseptic spray. He didn’t actually think angels could get infections but Castiel had shown more human weaknesses than Dean was comfortable with. “This is will sting, Cas,” he warned as he sprayed the biggest gash, over the wing’s arch. 

Castiel screamed, lurching forward and was only just stopped from falling by Dean heavy hand on his shoulder. Dean had a flash of memory at the last time he had sprayed the angel’s wounds. That time it has been purposefully done to cause him pain and that thought made Dean’s stomach heave. The angel breathed heavily, whimpering pitifully as Dean rubbed at his neck to sooth him. “Shoo, angel. It’s ok,” Dean comforted, even though he knew it was not ok. “That was the worst of it. It’s only going to be easier from here.” He was only partially lying, as he knew the stitching would hurt despite the mild anesthesia in the spray. Castiel was holding the plate in his hands so hard that his knuckles were white. Dean slipped the spray into his pocket, waiting until the angel’s breathing slowed slightly before letting go and transferring the needle into his right hand. 

When Dean leaned in pinching the wound closed with his left hand, Castiel groaned “Dean,” and hunched forward, chin pressed against his chest to escape his touch. 

Dean shushed the angel pacifyingly again and he poised the needle over the broken skin. “Ok, Cas, I need you to hold very still. I know it’s going to hurt but you might tear the needle right out if you move.” Castiel’s head bobbed miserably and Dean steeled himself before piercing the metal through the two pieces of flesh. It was a quick motion but Dean still felt the tough resistance as he dug in for another stitch. Stitching together human skin was a feeling unlike anything Dean could describe. It was equally tougher and softer than people imagined. Castiel gasped in pain but did not move as instructed. Dean hummed on praise and tightened the thread before efficiently spearing through more skin. Taking his time wouldn’t make the pain any easier to bear and he knew it. 

Dean couldn’t remember how many times he had been in Castiel’s position, curled in against the pain, trying valiantly not to move or make a sound. John handled patching up Dean like an obligatory chore, brandishing the needle in angry stabs. He had hating that treatment more than any beating because it showed Dean how little consideration John had for his son’s well being. Dean did not want Castiel to feel the same way, broken and vulnerable in the face of pain. Dean suppressed a shiver and leaned in, pressing an apologetic kiss on Castiel’s neck. The angel all but keened at the touch.

“Dean, please,” he pleaded and Dean ran his lips ran down the line of his neck, tonguing at the ridge where his spine began. Castiel moved his head back and allowed Dean to press his nose into the shallow hairs at his neck. Castiel smelt beautiful again after having some time to recover from the previous night’s trauma. The floral scent of lilies and baked apples made Dean’s mouth water. 

“I know, angel. I know. I got you,” Dean’s eyelid felt heavy with desire but he knew he had to continue. He tried blinking several times but the haziness refused to leave him. Stepping away Dean reluctantly pressed the tip of the needle into his thumb. He gasped a drop of red blossomed on his skin, clearing away the cloudiness. Dean smiled despite himself and commented, “Your grace is smelling particularly tasty today, angel.” He heard Castiel huff a laugh and he looked back at his handiwork. The largest gash was almost closed. Dean pushed the needle through the skin three more times before tying off the thread. It had taken 8 stitches to close the wound but it was luckily a shallow cut. “You are doing very well, Cas,” he praised and rethreaded the needle. “Why don’t you keep eating, the pancakes are getting cold.” He hoped the food would distract the angel from the pain as he worked.  
“Yes, Dean,” Castiel replied breathily before obediently picking up the fork. He sectioned a piece and cut into the cakes. “They are very good, thank you.”

“Oh, it was only a packet mix. I used to make them from scratch for Sammy. He loved my choc chip, banana pancakes,” Dean boasted as he shook the spray. “Hang tight, Cas. I’m gonna spray you again.”

Castiel put the fork down gently on the side of the plate and held the edges tight enough to crack. “Go on, Dean. I will try to ‘hang tight.’”

Dean smiled humorlessly and sprayed on the next big cut on his wings. Castiel arched his back; a groan ripping out of his tightly clenched teeth. Dean slide the bottle into his pocket and rubbed the angel’s trembling arms comfortingly. “I’m so sorry, Cas,” he whispered. “You know what? Go ahead and stab me if you want to. I definitely deserve it.” Dean moved the needle over to the open wound and pinched together the edges of red. 

Castiel shivered at the contact and said, “You are only trying to help me, Dean. I understand and appreciate that.” Dean didn’t want to point out that the reason Castiel would need any help at all to begin with, was because of him. Setting his jaw Dean worked through the stitches, making a neat row of black lines. “Besides,” the angel continued, “your body is too precious to be hurt intentionally. An angel would never harm a creation of passion, that was pieced together meticulously with love.”

Dean scoffed and tightened the thread before snapping it off. “Of course you believe in the whole creation bullshit. You angels are practically the poster boys for systematic religion aren’t you?” He threaded the needle and then ran his hand down Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Brace yourself,” he warned before the fine mist coated another wound.  
“Father Almighty!” Castiel sputtered and hissed as Dean pinched the gaping flesh between his fingers. “Dean, faith is a gift that you have regrettably never recieved. Had your father opened his heart and in turn yours to the glory of His Grace, you would understand the significance of your being.” When Dean made an undignified noise Castiel lowered his voice as if asking a very intimate question. “Do you not believe in God, Dean?”

Dean sighed heavily as he worked the needle, “No, I believe in him alright. But I don’t think he gives a crap about anything that goes on down here. War, famine and disease? Why would the big G let that happen if he cared? Fuck that. Look around you, angel. Even if he didn’t care about us, why would he leave you here? Why would he let any angels be captured, in fact? God is a heartless bastard who doesn’t give a rat’s ass what happens to you.”

“You speak blasphemy, Dean,” Castiel murmured, staring morosely at his plate. “Everything that happens has a cause and a purpose. I was also believe that I was sent to you for a reason.”

“You think God sent you, one of his angels, to be intentionally hurt, tortured and… used by me?” Dean asked disbelieving. “Does he have it out for you or something? Or does he just have a sick sense of humor?”

“No, Dean. God works-“

“I swear, if you say he works in mysterious ways I am picking up the damn poker!” Dean thundered. There was a tense silence as Castiel hunched further looking crestfallen. Dean didn’t know why he was getting so mad but the thought of this mindless obedience to a father figure who was neglectful was a topic that hit too close to home. Why did the stupid angel still have faith when he was obviously left here, forsaken and at the mercy of a madman?

“It saddens me that you have so little faith, Dean but I do understand. But I just wish that you would understand that I will never stop having faith; be it in Our Father, my brethren, humanity or,” Castiel turned to look at him in earnest, “in you.”

Dean shifted on his feet uncomfortably until the angel turned away. “So you believe that all that praying will eventually bring, someone to come save you?” Dean asked. He worked through the cut and liberally sprayed the last sizeable cut. Castiel wailed, dropping the fork with a clutter. 

“No,” he breathed, blinking through the moisture building in his sapphire eyes. “I do not pray that they save me, Dean. I don’t believe I need saving.”

“Oh?”

“I pray that I am able to overcome my fear of you.” The words bought an astounded silence from Dean. He didn’t know how to response to such honesty. He knew what he was doing was frightening and hell, that was the point of the training. But still knowing this, made Dean fell about two inches tall. 

“Are you really scared of me, Cas?” Dean asked, already dreading the answer.

Castiel nodded miserably, “I am sorry. I tired to stop.” The angel’s voice cracked with what sounded like guilt. Dean took a long, deep breath. Of course Castiel was scared of him. Dean had done unspeakable things to the angel so it was it entirely unexpected? But why did that fact twist his gut so painfully? Dean tied off the thread with finality and used the gauze to quickly loop around the major wounds. He secured the last of the bandages before kneeling down in front of the angel.

“Don’t be sorry, angel. Don’t ever be sorry for how you feel. You are entitled to feel how you want to,” Dean soothed. “And look, I’m sorry I was being dick. I don’t get to tell you what you should believe in. That’s on you.” Castiel smiled weakly and nodded again. “You have been very good today, Cas. How about a reward? Ever tried pie before?”

“No, Dean but I have tried cake,” the angel supplied and handed Dean the plate of half-eaten pancakes. “Thank you for them. They were very good but I could not finish them.” Dean waved off another apology. Considering how little the angel had had to eat in the last few days, Dean suspected that his stomach had shrunk. Eating anymore would no doubt make him sick. 

“That’s not the same thing,” he chided playfully. He glanced down at his watch and frowned. “I have to go to work now but don’t worry, I will get you the tastiest pie in the tri-state area.” Dean tried to lighten the mood, not wanting to leave angel looking so gloomy. “Well, this is exciting! I get to pop the cheery on the your first pie.” When Castiel flushed and looked away, Dean smirked, knowing that the angel had understood the play on words.  
“Thank you for tending to my wings, Dean,” the angel said evenly. “I will look forward to your pie.” 

Dean smiled and leaned closer. Castiel met his eyes and did not close them when Dean gently pressed a kiss on his lips. The angel tasted like sweet butter and syrup and Dean fought the urge to slip his tongue in to get a better taste. Castiel did not look fazed but hadn’t understandably responded to the kiss. Dean gave him another peck on the nose before heading to work, not realising that he completely forgot to ask about his missing scars. He had no doubt that he would be occupied all day thinking of nothing but blue eyes, chapped lips and broken feathers.


End file.
